SCI-FI SHORT
The Discovery That Never Happened
A discovery threatens to change everything we know about life
ACT I — The Invite
As I dismounted my motorbike and looked upon the quaint structure of my alma mater, I felt nervous for the first time in days. I had distracted myself during the ride, watching soaring skyscrapers fade in the rear-view mirror giving way to the fragrant, green countryside. The serpentine road was flanked by mighty fir-covered mountains, with an occasional rivulet crossing my path. How could I not be engrossed by Mother Nature’s grandeur?
I removed my helmet to see murky grey clouds gathering beyond the distant mountaintops. A downpour was inevitable. Normally, I wouldn’t mind being caught in the rain, however, today was different. I patted my jacket’s left pocket and felt the contour of my precious cargo — it was the reason I was here. I took one last look at the picturesque mountainside and started walking towards the building with “Highlands Research Institute” sprawled across its side.
After a two-hour bike ride, I was finally here. Highlands, situated 130 kilometers from the bustling city, was home to one of the most powerful radio telescopes in the country. The last time I was at the institute, six years ago, I had been a novice researcher in the field of astrobiology — the study of life in the universe.
What had inspired me to study astrobiology as a child was Fermi’s Paradox. Despite the unimaginable expanse of the universe, evidence in support of life was surprisingly insignificant. You could take any leading hypothesis — that we’re alone here, complex alien life hasn’t evolved yet or that aliens are too advanced to communicate with inferior beings like us — the fact was that we had no evidence of any extraterrestrial civilization. At Highlands, we focused on searching for this evidence — organics, liquid water, bio-signatures — any signs of life in the infinite cosmos.
As people of science, we could not trivialize the possibilities. The Earth had gone through five major extinction events, yet life persisted. If that’s plausible, where do we draw the line? What if aquatic life existed in the subsurface oceans of planets orbiting the fringes of our Solar System? Perhaps microbial life had adapted to survive in the hydrogen-rich atmosphere of exoplanets? The possibilities for life out there were truly endless.
However, the person I was here to meet believed we were all wrong. He was confident that somewhere in the vastness of space, there were planets that hosted life — and that a handful of them must have evolved into societies and civilizations. Some even more advanced than us! The greatest obstacle that prevented us from contacting them was simply the size of our sample space — the entire observable universe!
I eventually located the cabin with “Professor Edwin Gerard” inscribed on the plaque. I knocked on the partially open door.
“Unbelievable! I wasn’t quite expecting to see one of my students today. Come on in, have a seat!”. The aging man said with genuine surprise in his voice.
“Well, Professor, I would have visited sooner, but I never got an appointment,” I replied jokingly, pointing at the framed photographs of him speaking at various events across the globe.
He let out a short laugh and continued, “Well, I’m here now, so why don’t you tell me what I can help you with.”
“Well, Professor, I just came to say that you were right. We were looking at it the wrong way all along.”
I reached into my left jacket pocket and handed him the cargo — a sleek envelope. The Professor opened it and inspected the single printed sheet inside with a puzzled expression on his face. He looked at it for a few seconds, hesitated for a few more, before setting it down on his desk. He took a deep breath and responded shakily, “This cannot be right. It has to be a mistake….”
“No, Professor,” I assured him.
“That piece of paper is the first-ever evidence of life existing beyond our fragile blue planet.”
ACT ll — The Discovery
It had been two days since my impromptu visit to Professor Gerard. Twenty minutes after our meeting, we were on the way to the airport on my bike. He had cancelled all his lectures for a week owing to “severe health concerns”. We had taken the evening flight to New York, where he would join me at Space Force as a special consultant.
Not just him; various individuals from across the globe, all experts in their domains, were gathering clandestinely at the Space Force headquarters. The others had arrived gradually over the next two days. Professor Gerard didn’t take much convincing — after a lifetime of analyzing data from telescopes, writing research papers and over a dozen books — he was finally at the cusp. Edwin Gerard wanted to play a role in what he could only describe as “the most life-shattering discovery in mankind’s history”.
On the third day, the Professor and I were accompanied to an underground conference room. The small windowless room felt mildly claustrophobic. One by one twenty-one strangers filed in and took their seats, exchanging courteous nods and smiles; no words were spoken. A projector hummed audibly above our heads, magnifying the pin-drop silence in the room. The last man to enter was Dr. Hunt, the Director of Space Force. The doors were sealed behind him.
”Good morning all. I thank you for your presence. I’m sure you have been briefed about the incredible breakthrough we achieved last week, thanks to our Space Force Observatory team.”
A short burst of applause followed, before the director continued, “The data you’re about to see is from JRRT45 — a main-sequence star located in the Vela constellation, roughly 3 light-years away.”
The screen refreshed as the projector displayed a transit light curve — the graph of a star’s brightness over time, with dips in brightness indicating when a planet had passed in front of the star. Generally, the dips are shallow and occur periodically, giving us information about the planet’s size and orbit. This curve, however, was exceptional.
A bizarre pattern stood out — a series of sharp dips, each occurring once every six hours. Even stranger was the fact that the brightness of the star dimmed to nearly zero each time. It was physically impossible for an object massive enough to block the star’s light to orbit it 4 times a day.
As we all stared at the image in dead silence, the director resumed, “Our initial assessment led us to believe that the transit curve was caused by a disintegrated moon or a cloud of comet fragments.”
“It’s…artificial,” someone was heard whispering.
The director ignored the remark and continued, “However, when we went through the infrared scan data, we realized that the transiting bodies were hotter than the star itself. These “objects” aren’t just orbiting the star; they are drawing energy from it. As unlikely as it sounds, ladies and gentlemen, we could be looking at a Dyson structure.”
My mind went back to an after-class discussion with Professor Gerard. He had explained that a highly-advanced alien civilization was likely to build an array of artificial satellites to harness the energy output of their star. The mega-structure could then power futuristic spacecraft and other sophisticated technologies. The concept had been around since the 1970s, although we were eons away from practically designing one. Yet, the transit curve was clearly telling us that someone, or something, had put a Dyson structure around this star.
“Ladies and gentlemen, what we have here….”
The director’s voice was interrupted by a sharp metallic screech. The doors of the conference room flew open as a young scientist stumbled into the room. He had a frenzied look on his face as he delivered a single statement — that changed everything.
“Dr. Hunt, JRRT45 just went supernova! It’s gone!”
ACT lll — The Origin
A few light-years away, in the constellation of Vega, a few rocky planets orbit a dying red giant star. The star is confined by a Dyson Sphere; a constellation of massive solar panels orbiting a few hundred kilometers from the star’s raging surface. Unlike our Solar System, every planet and moon within this solar system has been terra-formed by an advanced alien civilization.
The first two planets had been mined hollow to become batteries, storing the energy harvested by the Dyson Swarm. The energy was beamed from the “battery planets” to the third, much-smaller planet through space-tethers; a network of space bridges between planets and moons.
As the red giant flared violently in its dying moments, the panels gradually started closing in towards the star. An announcement followed on the third planet in an alien language, “Batteries are fully charged. Preparing fleet for migration.”
Reaping the star’s energy was almost complete. Now it was time for the civilization to move. The raging red sphere started dimming as the panels closed in to cover its entire surface. The once prominent star was now reduced to an afterglow, barely discernible in the vast cosmic landscape.
Finally, the star exploded in a spectacular supernova, spewing mass and energy into space at light-speed.
Aboard one of the millions of spacecraft riding the shock-wave, a child-like alien figure asked his companion, “So, what next?”
“Well, we find a new star— and build a new home.”
