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<term UNTRANSLATABLE>
Robert Hood
Everyone in the world received the Message - or at least those with an email
account did. The others? They were too irrevocably primitive to matter. For all
intents and purposes, they were already redundant.
At the moment it came into his inbox, innocuously waving its little electronic
flag at him, Gordon Cole was engaged in more important matters and didn't
notice. Someone designated "cyberfiend" had suggested that
Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow
was a second-rate con-job and a symbol of Hollywood's decadence, made by
social retards and championed only by hopeless losers who couldn't tell a
dilythium crystal from a warp-drive capacitor.
Gordon ("Flash" to his online buddies) had composed an elegant reply that only
used the term "dicksucker" once or twice and argued the case for Total CGI sf/x
as the way of the future. "Who needs live actors even?" he wrote. "Any random
grouping of pixels could perform better than Shatner and Co."
He laughed aloud at his own wit, poked the SEND button and headed for the loo,
negotiating the piles of crap that littered his unit's lounge-room floor. It
was only six o'clock or so in the morning, but he'd been up for a long time
already. His sleep had been disturbed by emotionally dark imagery he couldn't
quite remember once he was fully awake. Believing in the existence of an
Internet gestalt consciousness, he'd wanted to check with the on-line community
to see if others had had the same experience. Many had, but as none of them
could remember their dreams either, the discussion had soon morphed into the
usual fannish hectoring. Gordon had been arguing and drinking coke for hours.
When he got back from relieving himself, he noticed the flashing mail notice at
once.
"Ha!" he muttered, eagerly anticipating a flame response from "cyberfiend".
"That was quick."
But it wasn't from the [scifi-heroes] discussion group.
"Greetings,
<humans>
," it began. "We have come from
<far off / another space - term UNTRANSLATABLE>
to study you and your
<life structure / data-set / term UNTRANSLATABLE>
".
Spam! Is that all? Why hadn't his filter ditched it?
For a moment Gordon scanned the Message, cursor hovering over the DELETE icon.
Using his free hand, he took a swig of coke.
Right now, job redundancy had ensured that Gordon's most life-affirming moments
involved arguments with anonymous nerds, most of whom might not even be real,
for all he knew. So, after a moment's hesitation, his finger pulled back from
the mouse and he read on. No doubt the Message would eventually offer him
unspeakable wealth if he gave up piles of cash first, but given the scifi
trappings, he found himself curious to discover what form the scam would take.
At least it showed some imagination. By the time he'd reached the end of the
email - where the "aliens" offered to download complex statistical analyses of
quantum-level data gathered in their "journeys" through
<space / time / the universe - term UNTRANSLATABLE>
- in exchange for general communication and the sharing of local data, he'd
decided to give in to the joke. He emailed back.
It took barely an hour for him to realise that the mass of digital information
that came through his modem - with a speed impossible to justify in terms of
available bandwidth - was not technobabble and was, surprisingly, based on a
level of scientific knowledge sufficiently within his grasp for him to tell it
wasn't crap. No reversed polarities or temporal modulators here. Excitement
rushed through him like the mother of all sugar hits. Not only did the
methodology make sense (as far as he could tell), but also the information
provided was strange enough to be of actual, other-than-earthly origin!
Hands shaking at the possibility, mind numb, Gordon set about running the alien
analysis software that came with the data.
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Gordon had given up on job interviews and was living off ebay sales of selected
items from his comic-book collection. Not that he needed much money. He rarely
ate and when he did it was usually pizza and coke. His rent was long overdue,
of course, but the landlord hadn't appeared with an eviction notice, so the
problem wasn't likely to distract Gordon from his interaction with the alien
messages for long. He found these messages irresistible.
Like computer geeks worldwide, Gordon felt he was in the thick of things and
well ahead of everyone else, partly because of his tech training and partly
because he had succumbed to belief so early. He and the aliens had been
chatting away endlessly for over a month, gradually establishing a basis for
mutual understanding. It wasn't easy, mind you. Though the aliens were running
two-way translation software it continued to return a large number of
<UNTRANSLATABLE>
warnings - on both sides, no doubt.
After a while Gordon found that most of the UNTRANSLATABLEs could be translated
without too much problem, some token semantic equivalence having been found.
Those that persisted, however, only occurred in certain conceptually complex
areas. The basis of this inability continued to escape him for a time and it
was only while taking a much-overdue shower one morning three weeks later that
he realised that the most persistent UNTRANSLATABLEs all related to the nature
of existence - both its physical structure and its inner, metaphysical form
(which the aliens clearly considered to be the same thing). Gordon suddenly
understood that when the aliens referred to something as permanently
UNTRANSLATABLE, it meant that you were dealing with the very essence of the
difference between alien and human understanding. And the area it covered was
huge.
None of this helped much, but Gordon kept it in mind while immersed in his
communications with them.
Then came the message that changed everything.
"Greeting
<Earth space>
entities," it said. "
<We>
wish it to be known that the
<First Stage – term UNTRANSLATABLE>
has been completed. Now
<we>
will
<visit / close-come / proximity-join - term UNTRANSLATABLE>
with your
<space>
."
Whatever it meant, no one was sufficiently free of cultural images of invasion
and conquest to remain immune to the growing paranoia. Gordon spent that
afternoon watching George Pal's
War of the Worlds
, followed by
Earth vs the Flying Saucers
,
Invaders from Mars
(both versions),
Independence Day
, and even
Mars Attacks!
before he decided that it was stupid to think that his alien buddies harboured
evil designs on his planet and therefore headed back to his computer to find
out the Truth.
In response to the message and the fear, governments insisted that all private
communication with the aliens cease at once - the invaders were clearly
gathering data that would aid them in their insidious plans. The Internet,
however, could not be easily regulated and appeals to shut down providers
worldwide failed to stop human-alien data exchange. More draconian measures
would take a long time to implement.
In the meantime, like everyone else, Gordon ignored the prohibition. Instead,
he decided to take a direct approach.
"When you say you are intending to pay us a visit," he typed into a new email
window, "what do you mean exactly? Is this an invasion?"
The aliens replied by initiating a long and highly technical discussion about
something cram-packed with UNTRANSLATABLEs. At first it involved concepts that
left Gordon utterly bewildered, even when expressed in sentences utilising a
minimum of UNTRANSLATABLEs. Gradually, however, his alien correspondent adapted
the argument in ways that made more and more sense to Gordon, no doubt
simplifying it out of all proportion. Only by making exhaustive demands on his
access to online scientific encyclopedias and drawing on specialist knowledge
acquired through years of scifi television could Gordon skirt around the edge
of their explanation - and once he'd done so he came to this conclusion: what
the aliens were saying involved the notion that everything - energy, matter,
the earth - was at its most basic level digital content, stored in a
<data-storage unit / high-level structure - term UNTRANSLATABLE>
. In their view of things, all life was information.
Eventually the answer to Gordon's question boiled down to something like this: "
<Race-name / us - term UNTRANSLATABLE>
will physically enter your
<local space-time / structural area - term UNTRANSLATABLE>
as transmitted data."
"Does this involve spaceships at all?" Gordon typed.
There was a long pause. Then: "
<Individual / I - term UNTRANSLATABLE>
had some trouble with the designation
<spaceship>
, but have concluded that you are referring to a matter-based vehicle for
physical transport across what you know as Euclidean space. Is that correct?"
"Um, yeah," Gordon replied. "I guess."
"
<We>
could manifest such an object in your
<perceptual-field / knowledge-formation matrix - term UNTRANSLATABLE>
, but generally
<we>
do not have spaceships.
<We>
no longer function using physical technologies of any kind."
"No machines? No tools? Does that mean you don't have weapons?"
"If by
<weapons>
, you mean devices of aggression that allow for the elimination of individuals
or species groupings, it is true:
<we>
do not have any weapons."
No weapons? No flying saucers with death rays? Presumably no anal probes
either? Earth wasn't about to be invaded then. Gordon supposed he should
immediately contact the authorities - or at least someone in a position to
communicate this information to the world - in order to pass on the good news.
If it hadn't been discovered before this, it would allay any popular fear of
actual invasion. These aliens were apparently pacifists.
But what was the likelihood that no one else had worked it out?
"Are you having this same conversation with other Earth people?" Gordon asked,
rather hoping the insights he was acquiring were his alone and he would
therefore become a hero by announcing the reprieve.
"Not
<myself / individual entity - term UNTRANSLATABLE>
," the alien replied. "But there are many of
<us>
and
<we>
are all
<gathering data / communicating / defining space-time - term
UNTRANSLATABLE>
with data nodules in your
<local space-time / structural area - term UNTRANSLATABLE>
."
Probably not big news then, Gordon decided. By now, others would know that the
aliens were non-technological - and unarmed. He considered asking the members
of [scifi-heroes] what they'd discovered, but as he hadn't posted to the
discussion board since this all started, and as far as he knew nor had anyone
else, what was the point? He was becoming even more reclusive than he'd always
been. He realised then that he hadn't spoken to another human being since the
pizza-delivery guy had dropped off a Mega-Meat Special over a week ago.
Gordon frowned. Oh, well. What did it matter?
"So when is this 'informational' entry into our space going to happen?" Gordon
continued regardless.
The alien's answer surprised him. "Data collection will be complete in one
minute," it said. "Having obtained the structural information needed to
initiate full transmission,
<we>
will then
<travel into / proximate to / flux-expand in the quantum sub-strata of -
term UNTRANSLATABLE>
your
<reality / data matrix – term UNTRANSLATABLE>
."
"One minute? That soon?"
"It is so," the alien message said, "and may
<I>
take this opportunity to express how much
<I>
have come to
<respect / understand / bond with - term UNTRANSLATABLE>
<entity / you / individual - term UNTRANSLATABLE>
during the time
<I>
have spent exchanging data with
<entity / you / individual - term UNTRANSLATABLE>
. It's been
<fun / enlightening / expedient - term UNTRANSLATABLE>
."
Gordon wrote "Thanks", and paused, unsure what to say next. He was feeling a
bit weird actually, as though every electron in his body were quivering with
unnatural enthusiasm. He added, "I'll see you then - when you get here" to his
message and hit SEND.
Almost instantly a message came back: "Unfortunately,
<I>
will not be able to
<see>
<you>
once
<we>
<arrive / close-come / proximity-join - term UNTRANSLATABLE>
. It is not possible."
Not possible? Why not? Gordon glanced at the clock in the top right-hand corner
of his monitor. At least a minute had passed since he'd received the
penultimate message. By now the aliens would be on their way. But if
face-to-face communication weren't possible, what was the point in coming at
all?
Gordon went to the window, pushed back his curtains and squinted into the
glare, half-expecting to see a sky full of alien beings. Instead the world
appeared to be disintegrating, the atmosphere shedding its blueness into a
swirling pixilated blur. Something indescribable (UNTRANSLATABLE?) was taking
its place. After a moment or two, the distant city skyline began to change,
too, morphing into
<term UNTRANSLATABLE>
shapes.
"What's going on?" Gordon muttered, unable to grasp what this meant.
His computer pinged, drawing his attention back to it. A strange "program
execution" box was running in the centre of the screen. It said "
<PROXIMITY-JOINING / DATA REPLACEMENT - term UNTRANSLATABLE>
UNDERWAY."
Below that was a progress bar, and the words "2 MINUTES REMAINING".
Gordon frowned, still bemused but aware that some terrible knowledge was rising
from deep inside his gut.
He glanced out the window again, at a world that was becoming stranger and more
alien by the minute. Vast expanses of it had shifted into a reality beyond his
comprehension.
30 SECONDS REMAINING
Not so much
invaded
as
over-written
, he thought in the momentary quiet between understanding and panic. Some part
of him wondered if anyone knew how to reverse the polarities or something, or
whether hitting 'program interrupt' would help, but before he could move his
shaking hands toward the keyboard, neither the keyboard nor his hands existed,
and the spatial network that defined his consciousness became too alien to
allow for it to continue.
Gordon was replaced.
TRANSFER COMPLETE
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