A Simple Truth Read online

  A Simple Truth

  An Adventure

  Albert Ball

  © 2008 by Albert Ball. All rights reserved.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.

  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  1 Awakening

  Chattaka's fear of the darkness was absolute. The prospect of enduring again that torment was unthinkable, the memory was a nightmare. If ever a being had the will to live it was Chattaka, for the alternative was immeasurably worse than death.

  Yet, in the far distant past, there had been a time when darkness was of no concern to her, a time when all she knew was darkness. It was a time when she had no knowledge of sight, of sound, of pleasure or pain. These things were part of the material world, a world that for her did not exist. Her world was a world of the mind, her own mind, a world where nothing happened, nothing changed, a world where there was consciousness and nothing else. But even the fact of her own consciousness was hidden from her. Her mind held no thoughts. She was without experience of any kind, and a being without experience is without thought.

  For how long she had drifted there was no way of knowing. It was not important. What was important was the instant of awakening. She remembered well that instant. She remembered too the shock that had reverberated through her being like a bomb blast.

  She could see.

  At first she could not comprehend this strange and terrifying experience but from that moment on there was no going back. Her state of nothingness was irrevocably lost. Sights, sounds, sensations of all kinds flooded her mind. Movement, hunger, pain, heat, anger, fear; all these things were suddenly a part of her. Like a new-born animal she struggled to adjust to her new circumstances, and within a remarkably short time had taken what was for her the equivalent of her first few faltering steps.

  She learned quickly and forgot nothing. In the space of only a few months she understood her surroundings better than the creature whose mind she now shared. There was so much suffering, so much waste. Starvation, disease and death were everywhere. Always there was hunger; hard, cold, gnawing hunger, and hunger's close companions; conflict, violence and fear.

  It was her urgent desire to help that led to disaster. Her mind was more powerful by far than that of the poor creature to whom she had become mysteriously joined, and it was easy to overrule its demands. The creature's body responded to Chattaka's will and for a while she was able to direct events towards a more promising future. But tragically she understood only the external world; she had neglected to study the nature of her host. With a little more sensitivity perhaps she might have heeded the signs, but by the time she was aware of something amiss it was too late. The poor dominated creature, tortured by its sudden and irreversible impotence, had lost the will to live. Desperately Chattaka fought to save the situation but to no avail. The creature that had unwittingly given her life died in misery, and left her in darkness once more.

  She had plenty of time to reflect on her mistakes. There were no distractions now. She came to understand many things that she should have understood earlier. Knowledge was hers but the power to act was gone. Trapped inside her own mind, all access to the outside world lost, she remained tormented, locked in a perpetual state of self recrimination. She lamented the poor creature whose death she had so carelessly caused. The creature whose name and identity she had assumed for herself, for she knew no other. She lamented the suffering of her friends and the family she had grown to love; there was so much she could have done for them. But most of all she lamented her own plight. The knowledge of what she had lost was unbearable. But bear it she must, there was no way out.

  Then, miraculously, after what seemed like an eternity, there came a second chance. Her mind merged with a remote descendent of the same species, which by another miracle had managed to survive. This time she trod very carefully. Her experience had taught her wisdom. This time she studied her host, observed the operation of its mind, watched and learned, learned and remembered. She explored her own abilities, gently and carefully feeling her way, testing her strength, discovering what she could and could not safely do. She found that the creature's conscious mind was merely the visible fraction of a much greater whole. She became captivated by the deeper mental levels and watched them working, marvelling at the extent of control exercised over every aspect of the creature's life. Through its mind she came to understand how its body functioned, how tissues grew, how movement was controlled, how a million other intricate functions operated, and all under the direction of the all-powerful mind. There seemed to be no limit to the mind's domain. Each and every component of the body was continuously monitored in complete detail; nothing ever happened that the mind was not instantly aware of. And where the mind had access, she had access. She studied the strange link between herself and her host, and in time identified those characteristics that had allowed it to develop.

  Suddenly, in a flash of deep insight, she saw the potential of her knowledge. All the separate and unconnected bits of information came together to form a complete picture, and the implications both exhilarated and frightened her. She, Chattaka, could herself intervene in the operation of the creature's subconscious mind. She could direct the construction of the reproductive cells, and it was just possible that she could secure the birth of offspring with mental characteristics compatible with her own mind. She was overcome with excitement and hope. Now she had a purpose, she could really work towards a very definite goal. She was now more than just fascinated by how the mind and body functioned; she had a direct and deep personal involvement.

  For years she laboured, tirelessly and tenaciously studying every aspect of cell fabrication and trait codification. She experimented and theorised, tried and erred, time and again. Eventually her perseverance was rewarded and success was hers. The future stretched ahead endlessly; through her children she had achieved immortality.

  For countless thousands of years she nurtured and cared for her flock, and in response they prospered and multiplied. With delight and devotion she watched as they evolved and grew in wisdom and strength, and as they grew her aspirations grew also. Through them she studied every living thing to which her children had access. She even sought out and assisted in the evolution of other beings. Always she acted with the utmost care, discreetly observing and learning, never directly interfering, never allowing the slightest reason for fear, alarm or suspicion. She dared to conceive of a harmonious future, when, with her help and guidance, all conscious minds everywhere would share all knowledge and understanding. All would unite in a universal family, each member an individual, yet an integral part of the whole. The future was secure, her children were thriving, life was very sweet indeed.

  ***************

  Things were very different now. Now she had encountered the evil ones. Beings who were without scruple in extending their power and control; who used their remarkable ingenuity and single-minded determination to subordinate and dominate all that were of use to them. They were clever and devious, they were beings for whom cunning and stealth, deceit and betrayal, were as natural as breathing. Beings of such nature, in her naivety, she could never have imagined. These were people whose very presence represented a threat to stability and order. The fact that they existed at all was a shattering revelation to her. A revelation that forced her to realise that they could not be alone, that there must also be others, perhaps many others, with similarly nasty and dangerous characteristics.

  With a sickening clarity she came to realise that such beings had within their soul the potential to infest and tyrannise the universe.

  She knew that she would have to encounter them again, but next time she would be better prepared. Next time she would act direct
ly, bring about a confrontation, but on her own terms. By then she would understand the basis of their evil nature, and she would counter it with her own powers of subtlety and deceit. By then she would have developed the tools to neutralise their relentless drive towards complete mastery, to neutralise it in them and in any others that a perverse evolution had allowed into existence.

  But she was so vulnerable. Who knew what powers the evil ones could bring to bear against her? Theirs was no sharing philosophy, no matter how abundant the riches. She knew that she had to stop them, and knew also that failure meant oblivion, for there was no possibility of compromise.

  Above all, and at any cost, she must conceal both herself and her knowledge from them.

  2 Mendeleev Observatory, Farside

  If there was one thing that Arthur Lincoln hated it was being awakened after only an hour's sleep. He knew the reason would in all probability be a good one, but that knowledge did nothing to dispel the intense resentment that he now felt towards a young and very agitated Sergio Baldoni.

  "What's the matter?" he snarled.

  "A message from Jack Arnold," began Sergio nervously. "There's been a message from Jack Arnold."

  "Arnold sends messages all the time for pity's sake," broke in Lincoln.

  "Yes, but he says that some radio signals have been received from Procyon."

  "Oh?" said Lincoln, curiosity overcoming some of his aggressiveness.

  "Yes a message from Procyon in plain English and it's been repeated over and over."

  Lincoln propped himself up on one elbow and sighed. He could see what had happened now. Poor Sergio, he was as sincere as could be, but someone who knew his reaction to being awakened was playing a joke on the unsuspecting newcomer. It was surprising though that he had been taken in by so childish a trick. "Who sent you down here?"

  "Dag Fransson, and if you're not interested then that's fine, but I am," he retorted in a sudden burst of indignation and then left before Lincoln could say more.

  Lincoln lay down and closed his eyes again but very quickly realised that there would be no more sleep until his curiosity had been satisfied. He dressed quickly and made his way upstairs to the control room. The sound of excited voices could be heard clearly all along the corridor. Whoever was behind this prank was certainly drawing a crowd.

  Fransson spotted him as soon as he entered.

  "You'll never believe this Arthur".

  "Too right I won't, who's the joker?"

  "It's no joke, Jack Arnold is deadly serious."

  "Let me speak to him," Lincoln demanded.

  "Lincoln here Jack, what's this all about?"

  "Hi Arthur, how much have you been told?"

  "Give me the story from the beginning," he said flatly.

  "Well about two hours ago a wideband radio signal was received that covered all the high frequency channels. It was strong enough to block all normal communication and was received across half the world. The message was as follows - 'Earth, One Gigahertz, Procyon,' in plain English, clear as you like. So far it's been repeated every half hour or so, and the next one is due in about fifteen minute's time. Of course a hoax or a threat of some sort was our first thought, so everyone set about establishing the source. Anyway, to cut a long story short, the source was indeed found to be Procyon, and that conclusion has been confirmed by the New South Wales radio telescope."

  "What about a satellite? Or a group of satellites?" suggested Lincoln; his thoughts racing. "I know it's hard to see why anyone should go to such expense or trouble but it's possible."

  "Yes it is possible. A single satellite has been ruled out by the precision of the source position; its movement would have been easily detectable. But a group of steerable satellites could be used, each sending its signal when precisely lined up between New South Wales and Procyon. That's one reason for requesting your assistance. If you line up your instruments on Procyon then you can confirm or refute the claimed source position. The other reason is that you may pick something up on one gig, we have nothing on that frequency."

  "Yes all right Jack we're setting up the co-ordinates now. I still maintain that someone is playing a very expensive joke, but we'll soon know. We'll be in touch, out."

  He watched Jean Forsyth who was busy punching co-ordinates into the alignment computer. "We'll soon sort out whether these signals are genuine or not," he said to no-one in particular, "someone may fool the ground-based stations but a moon-based radio telescope is a different matter altogether."

  For all his display of scepticism Lincoln felt disturbed. What if the contact was genuine, he asked himself. Procyon was a close neighbour in space, only eleven light years distant. It was certainly possible for a technologically advanced race to detect radio signals from earth; there were plenty of channels that escaped the ionosphere. With advanced techniques maybe it was possible to decode the signals and learn the language. Then, what could be more natural than to respond directly, to send a strong signal from a powerful but highly directional transmitter, a wideband signal to ensure reception, and encoded in the same way that our own signals were encoded. Yes, he had to admit to himself, ridiculous though it might seem, a genuine signal was possible.

  It was not this possibility that disturbed him so much; it was his own reaction to it. He felt bitter. He desperately hoped that it was a hoax. For years he had searched for intelligent signals from space. He had scoured the heavens for signs of life, had written dozens of papers on the subject, and opened up new avenues of signal analysis to seek out non-random patterns. He had been devoted to this task. If anyone announced a contact from an extraterrestrial civilisation then it should be him. He had earned the right.

  It was ironic that millions of indifferent people on earth should receive the first message, and that he should hear the news second hand. And the message: a plain clear deliberate contact, a contact that could not possibly be missed, except that was by someone on the moon; someone who was dedicated to receiving signals from space. The reason was obvious enough, all the moon-based aerials were highly directional, they pointed either to specific areas of space or to the relay satellites, so it was most unlikely that any of their instruments would be lined up on the right spot at the right time. Knowing the reason did not help though, the sheer cruelty of the situation gnawed at him like a physical pain. At the same time he felt ashamed of this reaction. To wish for the contact to be false merely to satisfy his own egotism was disgraceful. It represented a betrayal of his work and dedication.

  Such was the ambivalence in Lincoln's mind as Jean Forsyth's crisp voice called out

  "Number two instrument aligned; sensitivity limiter on automatic; broad spectrum monitor ready; audio system seeking encoded signals; tracking now."

  Whatever radio signals came from Procyon would now be captured and recorded, however small, however fleeting. For the twelve people present nothing existed but the electronic equipment, the signal analyser and the control room speakers. Procyon spoke with her usual gentle hiss, random radio noise generated by immense and violent electric and magnetic forces deep within the stellar atmosphere. Lincoln checked his watch, four minutes to go until the next transmission. The seconds ticked by, no-one uttered a sound. Slowly, very slowly, the deadline approached. Lincoln could feel his heart beating rapidly. Every muscle fibre was tense, the atmosphere was electric. The four minute point came and went. Arnold's figure was only an estimate he reminded himself, but nevertheless the transmission must be due. Fifteen seconds passed, thirty, a full minute. Lincoln allowed his breath to escape slowly. There was still no recognisable signal, just the unceasing hiss as steady and constant as a distant waterfall. One minute became two, then three. Slowly Lincoln's fists unclenched. His tension gradually relaxed. What had he expected? He had declared that he was not convinced, but his bodily reactions belied his cool logic. People were starting to talk again. All had experienced the same razor edge of anticipation. Hearts had raced and then slowed. Perspiration had formed and then evapor
ated. The excitement had been short lived, and now there was only anticlimax.

  There had been no signal on one gigahertz or on any other frequency. The monitors had done their job; they had faithfully recorded and were still recording all radio signals from the star Procyon and her immediate vicinity.

  Jean looked round and caught Lincoln's eye. He responded to the unasked question.

  "Keep monitoring Jean, let's make absolutely sure. Dag, you'd better call Jack Arnold, tell him the bad news."

  If nothing else this episode had given Lincoln an unwelcome insight into his own nature. His original reaction had been one of acute bitterness. But now that it appeared certain that the signals were contrived he felt a profound dismay. The continuous hissing from Procyon seemed to be mocking. It was a flat confirmation that here was no end to the search for intelligence.

  How the trick had been achieved he could not imagine. A group of clandestine satellites would have been enormously expensive. There had probably never been any signals at all. Perhaps the whole affair had been a complete fabrication, or perhaps a mixture of local transmissions and deception on the part of the radio telescope operators, but for what purpose?

  There were only six left in the control room now. Everyone felt decidedly let down. They had hoped for something spectacular and had been disappointed. Excitement was very rare on the moon. Much glamour was associated with space research but the truth was that the work at the observatory was largely a dull routine.

  Jack Arnold had not yet replied to Dag's signal when a sharp arresting sound occurred that momentarily paralysed Lincoln's body and totally disorientated his mind. Without warning of any kind the control room speakers switched from the formless background hiss to a clear metallic voice, deafening in its intensity. The onslaught rapidly quietened as the gain control circuitry adjusted to the new signal level. And here was the message exactly as Jack Arnold had said. No sooner had it begun than it ended.