Alien Part 15
My NaNoWriMo 2015
“So what is it you want me to do?” Xio Lu asked, his thick accent even more difficult to comprehend through the warped signal of an international call.
“I need your help analyzing a newly discovered dialect; to trace its origins compared to our own,” Huiling explained.
“What dialect is this?” the old scholar asked. “Did we finally uncover written example of the Dou Lu dialect? I’m sure I would have heard if that were true.”
“Here’s the kicker,” Huiling teased. “It’s not from this planet.”
“If this is some sort of hypothetical exercise — ”
“It isn’t. How soon can you get on a boat?”
“How much are you paying me?”
“Name your price.”
“I can be there tomorrow.”
True to his word Xio Lu arrived on the next boat over. It wasn’t a long trip, only a narrow channel separated their two countries, at least geographically. Philosophically, their ideologies were miles apart.
A highly decorated scholar, Xio Lu pioneered the study of linguistics. Starting with his groundbreaking retranslation of the Creator’s Word, Xio Lu made his name when he identified numerous flaws in the original translation of the ancient tongue and demonstrated how, by using source material from numerous ‘heretical’ works of the same time, one could trace the roots connecting modern tongues with that of the ancients, and, therefore, produce a more accurate translation of of the Ancient Scripture.
These days Xio Lu doesn’t do as much. A self proclaimed atheist, he lost favor with the church and therefore lost its patronage. Now he spends most of his time promoting a growing secular movement in his country. His talents for language languishing.
“So what is this language you have discovered from above?” he asked the moment he came through the door. Huiling had hoped his interest would be piqued by the information she teased for him over the phone.
She took him into a room, a high fidelity record player occupied one wall. A bank of windows occupied the other. “This, she said, placing a record on the turn table, “is the sound of a language not spoken on this earth. A language spoken by a people almost five lightyears away.”
The old scholar’s eyes began to sparkle as the first utterances of the alien tongue filled the room. He listened intently. Huiling meant only to play a sample to get his thoughts on it, but the man protested vehemently when she tried to turn the player off. She let him listen. He listened for hours. Then finally he emerged from the room. His gaze locked onto nothing around him.
“I need to see this planet,” He said.
“The planet itself isn’t all that visible at these distances,” Huiling said. I can show you the sun it orbits though.”
“Sun?” he asked. “A single sun? Yes, yes. He said to himself. of course they would only have one sun.”
She led the man to the observation tower. Opening the domed roof, she gestured to the eyepiece on the large telescope. After having adjusted the focus slightly, she bade him look. “See that darker portion of the sun? She asked. “That is a large gas giant named Domnitor; at least, that’s what I have called it. Behind it is the planet. I have not named it, for it seems wrong to assign a name to a planet already named by its inhabitants. Perhaps in your studies you can uncover its name.”
He looked, transfixed at the nearby system, Marveling at its beauty in light of its significant. “Thank you,” he said finally, pulling his head away from the eye piece. “I now have the perspective I need.” With that, he turned to leave, heading back into the room with the records.
“She’s getting close, very close,” the assistant said, responding to the old woman’s question. “She’s brought on Xio Lu from Mongol to find a link between our language and the language of the aliens.”
It is a fools errand though,” the old woman replied. “What are the odds there would be any relation between the two?”
“I’m afraid it is not so foolish as that. I’ve seen Xio Lu’s work. He is finding links. Lots of them. If this gets to the Board — .”
“It would be ruin. Chaos. This could destabilize the very fabric of society. She must be stopped.”
“But how?”
“Leave that to us.”
“This is amazing.” Xio Lu exclaimed, looking up from his work. It’s unbelievable. Had I not discovered it myself, I would not believe it was possible!”
“What have you found?” Huiling asked, looking over his shoulder.
“There are at least four distinct dialects being spoken in the transmissions we are picking up. While they differ greatly from our own language, they are not completely alien. In fact they appear to arise from the same archaic language most dialects on our own planet originated. The similarities, while nuanced, once compared to our archaic tongue, are indisputable. Look how the term for water appears phonetically when we compare it to the Han Dou word for it in the polar region. It is words like these that have given me the basis of my decoding diagrams. While I can’t translate everything, there is enough overlap to know that they do, in fact share some sort of relation to us.”
“Are you sure?” Huiling asked.
“It is undeniable,” Xio Lu said. were these people to have evolved completely independent from us, there should be no way to determine their language from gobblygook. If they even had a spoken language at all, there is no reason their utterances would sound remotely like anything we can reproduce, let alone share common roots. How they came to be on this other planet I cannot say, but they are our relatives. There can be no doubt.
“This is excellent!” Hui Ling said. “The Scholarship can not deny me now.”
“I wouldn’t rush into this too quickly, my dear,” Xio Lu cautioned. “This finding will call into question everything society believes about itself, about our origins. This is dangerous territory we are entering, there are many who will not want to hear it, and may actively oppose its distribution. Let us see what else we can find out before presenting our findings.”
Huiling paused to consider. “Alright,” she said finally. Let’s see what else there is to find.”
Dr. Alister Douglas couldn’t believe what he was hearing a recent graduate of one of the most prestigious scientific institutions in the country, Alister had graduated the youngest in the history of the institution. It helped that he had finished secondary school at age sixteen, and undergrad before he could legally vote. Now at merely twenty-four years of age, he had his Phd in physics and atmospheric engineering, and was a no-brainer for the tireless recruiters of Section 47. It hadn’t taken much convincing. All they had to do was say “space” and Alister was onboard.
There were more experienced engineers, and more academically accomplished physicists, but Alaster had appealed to Mr. Thatcher specifically because the boy didn’t seem to understand the concept of impossible. His experiments throughout primary and secondary school were always far more ambitious than even a grad student would take on on his own, but Alister seemed to have no concept of his limitations. He failed every time, but what impressed Mr. Thatcher most is he would try again, or choose an equally ambitious project the next time. And every project he attempted, he came closer and closer to succeeding.
This was the type of individual Section 47 needed. After all, they were attempting the impossible, and they hadn’t time for those who doubted themselves. Once the briefing had concluded, they were ushered into a small adjoining room where, apparently, high ranking officials of Section 47 waited.
He checked to see who he would be reporting to. ‘Doctor Simmons’ it said. He wondered what he’d be like. Alister was promised a certain amount of autonomy as a condition of signing up. He was never a huge fan of people telling him what to do. As if they had any idea what his limitations were. There were only two things Alister believed limited people, their belief in what’s possible, and perhaps maybe the laws of physics. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure of the second limitation, but until he had time to prove otherwise, as a physicist he needed to believe they were true at least some of the time.
There was one woman standing all alone looking confused. Perhaps she couldn’t figure out who she was supposed to report to. That didn’t bode well for her, He thought. She was clearly approaching middle age, and looked more like she belonged behind a reference desk at a library than amongst the nation’s top scientists. But who was he to judge on appearance, he reminded himself. After all, he looked like he belonged at a soda fountain, sharing a malt with someone as young and wide-eyed as he. *Careful now,* he thought. This is your chance at a new beginning, lets not start alienating people before even meeting them.
Carolyn leaned against a table on the far side of the room. She was puzzled. Her folder included a picture and short description of the man she was to report to. No one here seemed to match that description though. She was excited to meet him though. This was Henrik Johenser, The original creator of the radio and a pioneer in the field of communication. She was certain she could learn much from him. If he ever showed up. She scanned the room one more time. Her eyes caught those of a young man, or perhaps even a boy, for he looked like he just graduated secondary school. He seemed to look as lost as she. Who was she to judge though? After all, she really wasn’t qualified to be a cryptologist. She had studied language and literature in school. Had she not been thrown into cryptology in the war, she would have never even been considered for this project.
The room was now beginning to clear out. Carolyn feared she would be the only one left in the room. A young intern walked in. The same one that found her in the visitors lobby. I’m terribly sorry. We must seem so disorganized, he apologized. Dr. Johneser is at home. He wasn’t feeling well today. We have a car waiting to take you to his home just outside the city. This envelope contains your instructions while you are there, along with authorization to speak about these things outside this building. Anyway, if you will follow me.”
