Secrets of the Antiwave

PART 2 | Chapter 6: Oprah III Has a Piercing Gaze

PART 2

When we discussed the Fermi paradox, we had to account for the fact that the universe is likely filled with billions of lifeforms, which we could never recognise as such. Despite their sentience, their outer appearance would render them incomprehensible to our minds. But amongst the invisible dark matter beings, and amongst the living nebulae and lovecraftian horrors, there had to be someone out there marginally similar to us.

People often asked why meeting other life forms was even important anymore. We finally had hoverboards, who cared? But convergent evolution is a mind-blowing thing. The fact that two species, separated by one ocean and millions of years, were able to come to the same biological conclusion creates profound implications.

Sometimes it's a matter of perspective. The things that we consider universal are often strange to others. The Inca didn't need the wheel, left to right wasn't the only way we read, and someone thought that bagpipes were a good idea.

For the all the atrocities of the Age of Exploration, it was a marvellous time. We discovered cultural convergence and divergence between different human beings. And often the similarities shared between a Polynesian islander and a Spanish explorer were far more important than the differences that occupied the people of that time.

But even then, there was a bias in our examination. Whether it was a canine or a human, we all shared a common ancestor and a common planet. What if we discovered life, in no way related to our own? What if met life outside of Earth, and understood that it was 'life'?

This, supposed many, would give us the answers to some of the most important philosophical questions that have ever been posed. What if we discovered that love was universal? What if it wasn't? What if these beings also wondered if they were all alone, what if they felt lonely? Would they have religions, if so, would they be similar to ours? By meeting a civilisation that is entirely non-human, we'd finally understand what it means to be human.

So you can imagine our surprise when, during the colonisation of the Terrestrials back in the 40's, we found absolutely nothing that we could even attempt to call life. The 60's came around and we had colonised the entire System, finding it to be just as lifeless. Not the outer stratosphere of Venus, nor Ganymede, nor Titan bore life. The warm oceans of Europa and Enceladus turned out to be sterile. And as our scientific equipment became more sophisticated, our readings became all the more grim.

We were truly alone; confined to several spits of sand, within an endless, uncaring ocean. None have ever thought to search the land beneath the waves. Now, the SMO was dropping lanterns into riptide.

* * *

Preliminary testing for the Faster-than-Light Messaging System (FTL-MS) began. We created a basic antiwave transmitter and antiwave receiver. Our goal was to send a short and unencoded message between the two devices. But when the experiment commenced, the receiver was activated first. A purely arbitrary decision. Looking back, I can't imagine what would've happened if the transmitter had been activated instead. Time has a funny way of treating accidental occurrences. As the years go by, we realise that the fate of our lives depended upon a coin-flip, a 2-minute-late train, the seat we chose in a classroom, or a midnight bus.

Stevenson turned a dial, activating the receiver. Although it wasn't planet-wide anymore, the Ernest Transmission still occured. After the pop, we expected the antiwave equivalent of radio silence. Instead, we were greeted with familiarly-unfamiliar sounds: the face of a relative superimposed upon the body of a historical figure.

'Damn it, we must've made a mistake!' said Winthrop, who was just about to cut the power.

Stevenson stopped him, 'That's no mistake, those are songs!'

Initially, only Stevenson, Winthrop, Rutherford, and myself were present. Twenty minutes later, the rest of the team had appeared from the neighbouring labs, attracted by the other-worldly melodies, filtering into the room. Caught under a spell, we closed our eyes and listened. For how long, none of us could say.

The unveiling was cancelled, the release of FTL-MS -- postponed. Our objective had radically changed, and we couldn't risk interference from outside sources. Who was contacting us? Where were they from? Were we overhearing conversations of a neighbouring race?

Winthrop wryly suggested that this was merely a by-product of the antiwave's strange behaviour, a predictable background noise which could be counter-acted and eliminated. As killjoy as it was, we were forced to prove him otherwise. The team went into overdrive, eliminating the impossible, until only the improbable was left.

Giant satellite dishes sprouted over the SMO like whitecaps after a rainstorm. Naturally, crowds regathered around the facility. Speculation began upon the cause our new construction. Our silence had overstayed its welcome. Where was the faster-than-light miracle?

It came upon me to stall the hungry lions, attending interviews after interview, knowing I had nothing new to say. And let me tell you, Oprah III's sofa is a lot less comfortable when everyone wants to know why the SMO has been building satellite dishes, and you -- the link between the secluded scientists and the whole Solar System -- are smiling like an idiot, repeating empty phrases.

Meanwhile, our work continued beneath the terraformed Martian soil. Attempts at locating our talented musicians were to no avail. The source was everywhere. Everywhere around us. We expanded our bandwidth, strengthened our receivers, and as our hearing improved, the grand orchestra became a cosmic symphony. We were hearing several songs at once, clearly distinguishable, yet perfectly harmonising with the rest.

One the day that I finally fulfilled my promise, and the team ate pudding in the renovated cafeteria, Rutherford burst into the room.

Pale-faced and gaunt, she said: 'It's the planets. They're alive.'