The Lure Part 34

'You mean you have no idea.

The a.s.sistant Chief of Police said, 'Here it comes, froze a frame and zoomed in on Petries companion until the face was a mosaic of little squares. 'Weve smoothed it out, he said, and the image sharpened.

'Who is he? the General repeated in an irritated tone. So the little country was proud of its expanding IT, but Kamensky had less interest in this display of electronic virtuosity than he had in the results.

'Our cameras tracked him as far as Hviezdoslavova Square.

'So? Kamensky thought, The fool can only spin out his moment of glory for so long.

Another picture came up on the screen. The Cossack hat was gone, and the man was grinning at some social function, but it was recognisably the same individual.

'Hviezdoslavova Square houses the American Emba.s.sy. This man advises American businessmen on trade opportunities in our country. His name is Joseph Callaghan.

There was a pause. Then Kamensky smiled, and the others round the screen smiled too.

42.

The X-Theory Bull had loosened his tie and was tapping his chin meditatively with an unopened can of beer. Across from him, the CIA Director was sipping froth from the top of a gla.s.s.

Hazel Baxendale started the DVD rolling and settled back in an armchair next to Professor Gene Killman.

The picture was in colour and its quality was good, although the sound had an echoey quality. The camera had been set up in a room decorated with yellow embossed wallpaper. Shutters had been opened at a large window through which there was what looked like an Alpine view. Petrie sat in a swivel chair, at a desk with pewter trays, blotter and pen holder. A desk lamp had been swivelled to light up his face and there were little beads of sweat on his brow. Occasionally a hand would appear on the right, when the questioner was gesturing. Otherwise the only sign of the interrogators was cigarette smoke and two voices off-stage, both American, one of them female. In the event they had little interrogating to do: Petrie was pouring it out like a man unburdening his soul. He was visibly shaking.

Petrie: First, the starting point. Youre not going to believe a word of what I say. Not a word.

Callaghan: Not even one?

Petrie: But thats okay. The important thing is not whether you believe it, which you wont, but that you transmit what I say to people in Washington who can evaluate it.

Callaghan: Okay, Tom, that was a good opening line. Youve softened me up nicely and now Im ready to buy whatever you tell me. Now, just so theres no misunderstanding between us: youre wanted for murder and I ought to be handing you over to the Slovaks. I havent yet done so for one reason only. You claim to have something you havent said what that affects American interests.

Alice: Big league.

Callaghan: Now I dont give a toss if youre the Boston Strangler. All I want to know is one thing: where do big league American interests come in?

Petries voice is low and rapid, matching the tension apparent in his face: First you have to understand about the underground facility in the Tatras. Its designed to pick up exotic particles of a type we might know nothing about.

Callaghan: Is this a secret laboratory or what? Ive never heard of it.

Petrie: No, its a joint British-Russian experiment, uncla.s.sified and open. Its under a mountain, but thats because they need to shield the equipment from ordinary particles, cosmic rays and the like. Only particles of a new type can get through. Apart from the odd neutralino from the Sun. I wont bother you with them.

Callaghan: Why should we care anyway?

Alice: American interests, Tom?

Petrie: They picked up particles all right. For twelve years there was nothing and then there was this terrific storm, billions of particles shooting right through the mountain and probably right through the Earth. It was something totally new, and it was n.o.bel Prize stuff.

But then they saw something else. The particle storm wasnt like a spray of buckshot: they arrived in a pattern, there were rhythms in s.p.a.ce and time of arrival, thats when they asked me in, Im a mathematician and I specialise in pattern recognition, thats what I do, I do patterns, I look for order inside chaos.

Alice: When you say patterns ...

Petrie: Intelligent patterns. The signals were arriving from deep s.p.a.ce and they were intelligent signals.

There is a long silence. The camera is fixed on Petries face, but he adds nothing to his incredible statement.

Callaghan: Intelligent signals? Like from Klingons or something?

Alice: You were right, Tom. We dont believe it.

Petrie: What? No no, that was the bit youre supposed to believe. This is the bit you wont believe. I decrypted some of the patterns and it turned out I was looking at the human genome, all thirty thousand genes, redundant DNA insertions from ancient bacteria, the lot. Then there were chemical formulae, thousands of them. So far as I can see theyre enzymes, they target the aging genes, the cancer genes, the Alzheimer genes, everything. Lots of them do things we dont understand and it will take a generation or two to work them out.

You see what this means? Your girlfriend drinks some enzyme juice, gets herself pregnant and nine months later shes produced a superior little baby.

Callaghan: A genetically modified baby? Are you serious?

Petrie: One which will never suffer disease. When weve worked through the enzymes, my bet is well have a means to boost our intellects, live three hundred years, maybe three thousand. Well have transformed humanity but thats just sc.r.a.ping the surface. Theres a mountain of stuff I couldnt understand but it related to particle physics. I saw some of the easier subnuclear patterns Gell Manns eightfold way and stuff like that and I thought I glimpsed a Calabi-Yau s.p.a.ce, but most of it I hadnt a clue about, and I think were being given knowledge of physics centuries ahead of where we are now. We cant handle the real stuff because its so advanced wed have no basis for understanding it itd be like giving calculus to an ape so theyre making it easy for us, giving us stuff a few centuries ahead instead of thousands of years ahead. We dont need to think that far ahead anyway since what theyve given us is enough to transform all our lives and were still just skimming the surface of it. Theres an intelligence out there which maybe holds all knowledge and it knows more about us than we do about ourselves.

Alice: Whoa, Tom, slow down for us. What do you mean, an intelligence out there? You know the source of these signals?

Petrie: I do, yes I do. I absolutely know where theyre coming from and its absolutely incredible.

Callaghan: Well?

A sly grin momentarily breaks the tension on Petries face: Thats a bargaining chip. Ill keep it to myself for now.

Callaghan: Okay, Tom. You said something about still skimming the surface. What do you mean?

Petrie: Yes, theres more, far far more, but this next bit will blow your mind. I cant take it in myself, its just fantasy ... Can I have some water or something, please?

Off-screen muttering. A chair sc.r.a.pes on a hard surface. A door bangs.

Petrie stands up: I dont think youll grasp the next bit.

Callaghan: Tom, dont be so b.l.o.o.d.y insulting. I have a degree in law.

Petrie: Were being invaded.

Callaghan: What? Look, Tom, sit down and calm down. I dont get it.

Petrie: Listen, you dumb ox ...

Callaghan: Youre right, Tom. I must be dumb because why else would they a.s.sign me out here in the boonies?

Petrie: Im sorry, I didnt mean that.

Callaghan: Thats okay, Tom. You did mean it and youre right. So why dont you calm down and explain why you think Darth Vader is heading this way?

Petrie laughs, but his hand is shaking as he takes the gla.s.s of water. Some dribbles down the side of his mouth. A female hand, all bangles and rings, appears with a paper handkerchief. He dabs at his chin.

The President was biting a thumbnail. He glanced over at his Science Adviser. 'Hes high on something, right?

'No, sir. He just got more and more excited as he told his tale.

'So hes a screwball?

'No, sir. Hes as sane as any of us.

Bull shook his head as if to clear it. 'Hes sure as h.e.l.l blowing my mind.

Hazel gave the President an arch smile. 'Wait till you hear the next bit.

Petrie stands up again. He is pacing up and down and on occasion is completely off-screen.

Alice says, 'Im getting a headache.

'You said were being invaded. Theyre already among us; maybe like Invasion of the Bodys.n.a.t.c.hers? Callaghans tone is flat.

Petrie taps at his jacket. 'I have the advance guard right here in my pocket. But its not a physical invasion. Its an invasion of ideas.

There is a long, strained silence. Petrie, owl-like behind his round spectacles, forces a brief, nervous smile. Alice leans back in her chair. 'Im sorry, but thats just off the wall. She turns to Callaghan. 'I think we should turn him in.

Callaghan is peering thoughtfully into Petries eyes. 'Keep talking, Tom.

Petrie shakes his head in frustration, like a man lacking the words to get his thoughts over. He sits down again. 'Imagine a world where countries are always at war with each other. So, war is good. War forces change, drives technology, sweeps away dead wood and so on. But as technology advances it reaches a point where its so destructive that societies crash if they go to war. At that stage things can go one of two ways. Either they keep going back to the Stone Age, or they get through the threshold by developing some code for living together.

'Where did you get that from? Out of some CND pamphlet?

'Now if youre on a planet that doesnt get through the barrier, you dont matter. You keep going back to the Dark Ages and thats that. But if you break that threshold, if you evolve a moral code which makes war impossible, theres no stopping you. You just keep growing in technology and knowledge. Survival of the fittest selects those civilisations. Until they hit the next barrier.

'Which is?

'Your first extraterrestrial contact. Then natural selection works just like before, only on a different scale of s.p.a.ce and time. Now its planets instead of countries but the same rules apply. On the long term the choice is still between mutual destruction or mutual sharing of some moral code which allows survival.

'With you so far. The good guys win through. Callaghan is humouring a lunatic. 'Dont quite connect it with this alien signal, though.

'Right. Right. Petrie blinks in surprise, as if he thinks the connection is self-evident. 'Okay, heres a question that bugged us from the day we got the signal. Why did they contact us? They dont need us, not for food, not for their test tubes. Were too primitive to be of any interest to them.

'They just want to be nice to us? Callaghan suggests.

'They want us to survive, for their own reasons. And to survive they want us to adopt a particular complex of ideas because thats our best chance of survival. If we dont, we become a threat to them, maybe a thousand years down the line, maybe just a hundred. They need us to evolve towards their values and morality because its their best protection.

'Otherwise we might turn into Vikings or something?

Petrie nods. 'Exactly. And if we dont respond, were a potential threat to the signal. Not now, but in the future. I dont know how they handle a threat.

Callaghan is struggling. 'Excuse me, did I hear you say we could become a threat to the signal?

'Yes, Joe, the signal. It propagates, it grows, it evolves by natural selection, it communicates. By any reasonable definition its a living thing. Its infinitely powerful because it contains all knowledge. And it uses life forms as its medium of storage. I guess thats why it wants us to survive and prosper. Life is rare and precious.

Alice says, 'Youre a nutcase.

Petrie grins desperately. 'And Ive been running amok with an axe. You know what Darwin said? He said the chicken is the means by which the egg reproduces itself. The egg has all the information it needs to make the chicken. The information is stored in the DNA but the storage medium doesnt matter it can be molecules or silicon chips or paper tape. The knowledge is what matters. You can encode life in a string of letters, you could even reduce it to Morse code.

'Now hold on, a musical score aint music, Callaghan objects.

'Excellent point, Joe, on the b.u.t.ton. You need an instrument to play a tune, and the signal needs life forms to propagate itself. Signal and life need each other like the chicken and egg need each other.

'The invaders are ideas? Not guys in s.p.a.cesuits?

'Theres no point in interstellar travel because civilisations dont need it. With the information content in these particle flows you dont have to visit alien worlds, you could recreate them in virtual s.p.a.ce. The signal outstrips any conceivable s.p.a.ceship. At the speed of light, information can cross the Galaxy in fifty thousand years.

'Still a h.e.l.luva time.

'Joe, its a lot less than the lifespan of a primate species. Expand your mind. Anyway the nearest signallers could be next door. Were just four hundred years from Antares, two hundred from Betelgeuse, eight years from Sirius and four months from the Oort cloud.

'Let me get this right the invaders are ideas? Callaghan asks.

'The life forms stay nice and cosy in their own planetary system or whatever. They might be organic life forms like us, or machines or computers or molecules, but so far as the signal is concerned, life is just a storage medium. The signal is the real living ent.i.ty.

'The signals have colonised the Galaxy, Callaghan repeats. He is still struggling with the concept.

'Not guys in s.p.a.cesuits, not even machines. The colonisers are imperialistic, all-conquering complexes of ideas and information bound together by a moral code which ensures mutual survival of life forms organic life or machine descendants because without life forms to transmit it, the signal itself would die.

'Gentle Jesus, Im just a Trade Adviser.

Alice asks, 'Are we supposed to believe that this signal is a living ent.i.ty or what? Is it a spiritual thing?

'I dont know. It encompa.s.ses all knowledge. It evolves and reproduces itself and acts to protect itself. It inculcates its baby life with the moral code it needs for its own survival and that of life. It pervades the Galaxy.

'Maybe even beyond? Alice suggests. 'Making the Universe a living thing?

Petrie grins again. 'Youre getting into the spirit, Alice. Maybe our Galaxy has been seeded, maybe genetic material drifts around like spores, I dont know. Some of it takes, some of it doesnt. But just as soon as any garbage civilisation crawls out of the caves and learns the most primitive biochemistry, the signallers fire off a blueprint for survival. His eyes are gleaming. 'Theres a Galactic club out there. Its a paradise club, its immortality. The signal is an invitation to join.

The President put his beer can on a coffee-table, still unopened. He contemplated it for a few seconds, sighed, looked up and grinned. 'Yep, Ive finally heard it all.

The CIA Director said, 'Seth, if you were trying to beat a murder rap, would you come up with a yarn like that?