“Answering correctly almost always confirms theory of mind. That’s why I love those capuchin monkeys. It looks like they can do it too. They’re the organ grinder monkeys, the ones people put into clothes with the cute hats.” Jill took a quick breath. “Understanding how other people’s minds work, essentially being aware that beliefs or levels of comprehension can be different from your own, it’s evolutionarily advantageous, especially in terms of society. And it’s a prerequisite for self-awareness, at least I think it is. Perceiving that other people, or even another species, are able to know what you don’t and vice versa is a tool of consciousness. It’s the ability to comprehend objectivity and external points of view.”
“You are convinced that consciousness, sociality, and theory of mind are inseparable, and it is a reasonable assumption,” Aki said, leaning back in her chair but looking Jill in the eye. “I agree that the Builders must possess consciousness, and that does imply the other two traits quite strongly. Which makes some sort of societal structure likely. But it might be so far removed from ours that we look like a beehive or an anthill to the Builders. So much of the pop conjecture ascribes emotions to the Builders, and I think it is riddled with converse fallacies of accident that destroy the exceptions. What about the black swans? What if the Builders simply do not exchange trade goods? What if the Builders have never had a war? What if they wonder why we talk so much while we eat? Or most importantly, what if all we are really doing is taking our views and putting them into their heads?”
Jill’s face was inexpressive. It was clear that she was considering what she had heard and trying to figure out what to say next, but it did not show on her face. Dan Riggins came over and suggested it was time to go. Aki wondered if he was uncomfortable with her playing the devil’s advocate after all.
“Ms. Shiraishi? How long do you think it will take to get them to talk to us? I can convey amicable intentions, but I’d like to know what happens after that,” Jill said.
“I think that is a question for your director.”
“He doesn’t know. We don’t know.”
Riggins rubbed his chin and then his eyes. He did not scratch or adjust his tie, but Aki could tell he wanted to.
“We send an honest signal with observable qualities. Beyond that, I would like to know when it’ll happen even more than you two women combined. There’s no certainty, and any time frame is illusory. We think too long or we jump the gun. The moment passes. Does it really make a difference? All anyone wants is a response. We send and we make sure not to cause confusion, but even if expressing that ‘We stay in peace’ is hard to beam at them, I know the Builders are ignoring us.”
Aki realized that Riggins was thinking about the Science Subcommittee and how its approval was required to make adjustments or to incorporate new information into the transmission, but she also knew full well that he was talking about something entirely different.
“I’ll come up with something,” Jill said and swiveled back to face her workstation.
ACT III: MARCH 11, 2024
THE RECEIVING CENTER was much larger; this was where the people Aki expected to find in the Transmissions room were working. A matrix of multiscreen setups dominated one wall, displaying real-time graphs and renderings of any anomaly that could possibly be an attempt at communication.
“I haven’t told you my greatest fear yet,” Riggins said to Aki.
“You are being replaced by robots?” Aki answered quickly.
“I worry that they sent a reply and we missed it. The time and energy, what feels like my life, isn’t really wasted, it’s merely dropped phone reception, and I end up feeling like a failure for a tragedy that didn’t actually occur.”
Aki stopped smiling. To keep Riggins’s nightmare from becoming a reality, the Receiving Center was connected to a gigantic grid of electromagnetic wave receivers pointed toward Orion’s belt. Three were on at any moment. Which ones were in use shifted on a rolling basis that followed the earth’s rotation. Currently, Chile, Guyana, and Arecibo were online.
“These efforts are not in vain, Director Riggins. Subharmonics, overtones. Those possibilities have all been covered and re-examined to prevent the tragedy of your worst-case scenario. There have not been any governmental restrictions on the receiving end. Further, if you apply systems thinking and imagine the complex interplay of factors, intentionally looking for non-linear feedback loops that give surprising futures, you still hit the truth that the Builders would only send a response if they wanted us to see it. I bet a reply would light up half that wall at once.”
Aki watched the primary data nodes update. It was like an aerial view of skyscrapers. Despite what she had just said, Aki shared Riggins’s worries. A chill ran through her as she realized that the data crawling by, all the multi-hued graphical renderings of raw and processed assessments of sound, light, frequencies, and vibrations, could potentially contain a missed reply to the signal.
“It’s a lot of pretty pictures of reasonably flat power spectral density, isn’t it?” Aki said.
“You don’t miss much.” Riggins cleared his throat, then shouted, “Everybody, get quiet. Dick, can you give us audio channel two, loud?”
The room filled with the random hiss of white noise. At first, it sounded like waves at the beach, then it sounded like holding a shell over each ear, as if Helmholtz resonance and diminished environmental noise were creating the phenomenon that many people falsely attributed to the amplified ambient noise of blood circulation.
“Pure static,” Riggins said loudly.
“This is with noise that might be obscuring wanted signals canceled out?” Aki asked. The sound’s textures were surrounding her. Riggins waved to the technician and the flattened din of the stochastic process subsided.
“That’s guesswork, but if you go back to your statement about how strong a message they’re likely to broadcast, all it takes is an output as powerful as the proximity sensing lasers the navy uses.” He pointed to a display on the other wall. It had even higher resolution.
“This one has a dedicated supercomputer for subtleties that might otherwise get drowned out. All it does is crank out Fourier expansion analysis, Lebesgue integration, anything that can use trig or calc to analyze the waveforms and find a pattern that might catch a ghost sound or a stray vibration in wavelength. Eight people or more are in this room at all times, analyzing for patterns, keeping the servers hot and trying to catch anything a computer might miss. Close watch day and night.”
“Is the public data unadulterated?”
“Nothing to hide. Can’t you tell, Aki? I’m not letting anybody play turf wars on this. I couldn’t care less if I get the word personally or if someone who is half-drunk and halfway around the world faxes me with ‘Wow!’ We take a closer look if more than three people blog about a specific graph.”
“How often does that happen?”
“We’ve done hyperanalysis of pulse height, edges, continuum shapes, even gamma rays, somewhere close to a half a million times. Now I’ll show you the supercomputer. Half the guys who work here would marry her over a real woman,” Riggins said.
They were within two steps of the door when an alarm began clamoring and strobes flashed.
“Audio. Segment four-zero-two,” the tech said. One of the central monitors flashed red several times. Then the monitor showed what Aki thought looked like a cross section of a mountain range. Riggins ushered her back to the far wall.