By Tom Merritt
Standard Five Home
Terrible rain beat against the window of John Franklin’s tenth story office. He walked over to the glass wall and absorbed himself in the sight of the drenched city. At moments like these he pretended the building around him didn’t exist and he hovered above the planet, soaring over the skyline. He allowed himself few fantasies and he liked this one best.
A chime from the notification alarm interrupted his reverie.
“Marjorie Metelchek,” intoned the alarm’s identification system.
“Enter,” said Franklin moving back to his desk.
Metelchek strode in through the office doorway shedding water in all directions.
“Jesus Marjorie, don’t you own an umbrella,” said Franklin.
“Yes but it crashed on my way over. I was trying to buzz you and I guess I fried it.”
“You had one of those Macron’s with the OS didn’t you? Well you get what you pay for. What can I do for you?”
“You can begin by resisting future temptations to criticize which IAs I buy,” she said, sitting down and running her hands through her hair. Franklin noticed she looked tired. The project had them all on the go. But she wore it well.
“I’m sorry,” said Franklin apologetically. “We’re all a bit on edge these days.”
“That’s what I’m here about. There’s been a breakthrough.”
“You can’t mean we made contact.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Why didn’t you just phone me? I mean godsakes Marjorie, we’ve got to get going!”
Franklin began gathering devices to put in his briefcase.
“Slow down there cowboy,” Metelchek said, jumping up. “There’s nothing to do. I didn’t phone because of the nature of the contact. Even double F12 encryption isn’t good enough for this one. We all need to act nice and quiet and make our way over to Central 8 without attracting attention. If for some unknown reason anyone cares, I’m meeting you here to go over some strategies before a meeting over there. That’s all. So let’s wait here for a few more minutes and then hop on over to Central.”
Franklin couldn’t believe it. Here was the moment they’d all been working years for and he was supposed to sit and pretend to be going over strategy reports? His stomach did somersaults and tried to tear out the door without him. Things never went his way. No, it wasn’t that. He’d worked this all out once when he was 16. Things as expected varied in a constant waveform from things as happened. Only by adjusting expectations to meet an average modulation could one keep from getting disappointed. But one also dampened excitement levels. It was a trade off but at least you had a choice.
Gerald Washington stood at the head of the conference table. Behind him, barely visible past his tall, broad frame, feeds from the Terran Orbital Contact System (TOCS) played an indecipherable melange of vectors and numbers. The thing had gone nuts.
“Before we begin, some introductions are in order. The gentleman to my right is Standard Five, Special Operations Chief for Interplanetary Technology Security. Mr. Five, this is John Franklin, our head of linguistics and interpretation, Marjorie Metelchek, specialist in special and general cultural relativity, Lo Hsinto, chief mathematician, Patricia Ngumbo, exobiologist, and Dr. Raymond Narayan, information technology. Now you’re all wondering why TOCS is jumping off the board. I’ll let Ray explain that one.”
“Thanks a lot,” said Narayan laughing. “The long answer is, ‘I have no idea.’ Marjorie and Lo pulled the contact duty. I came in afterward to clean up the mess. I’m guessing it’s a scrambled code, and I’m also guessing we’re not supposed to unscramble it. More of a stopgap jamming method from what I can tell. They don’t have a way to jam TOCS so they’re sending encoded gibberish.”
“That would be consistent,” said Metelchek.
“May I ask why Mr. Five was invited along?” piped up Ngumbo.
“I.T.S. monitored a techno-disturbance co-incident with our contact scenario,” replied Washington. “He’s here to share and get info on the whole situation. Consider him one of the group temporarily. He’s not examining us, if that’s what you’re concerned about Pat.”
Franklin had heard of Standard Five. He mainly tracked down users of the quantum splitter drive, known by the general public as the Alternate Reality Machine. That was and wasn’t an accurate name for the drive and he wondered if that shed any light on situation or not.
“Let’s replay the contact scenario and then storm for answers,” said Washington, standing up and punching up a camdoc. The lights dimmed and it began to play.
The doc opened with a shot of Metelchek and Hsinto working in front of the main TOCS data station at Central 1. Suddenly a whine emitted and Metelchek swung over to the signal analyzer.
“Disruption?” asked Hsinto.
“I don’t think so,” said Metelchek cautiously. “It looks almost as if we’re getting a com signal but it’s the wrong angular.”
“Let me refresh the filters,” said Hsinto disappearing off-screen briefly.
“No change. Let me try—“
“Whoa!” Hsinto interrupted.
“What?” said Metelchek half annoyed, half puzzled.
“Translation just kicked on.”
A computer synthesized voice belted over the lab speakers.
“This Delta untrans Fourth planet Derm-untrans stellar system. Wait to acknowledge our signal. Not transmit before. Cease monitor. Welcome.”
The computer voice died. Hsinto and Metelchek continued frozen for a second more and then leaped into action.
“The transmit was binary, our coding, but bad translation,” shouted Metelchek excitedly.
“We’re getting tons of mathematical input too. Streams and streams of data.”
The computer voice busted out again.
“We apologize for the simplicity of the previous message. It was necessary in case this heavier data was corrupted or delayed in transit. This is the planet Delta Quintenux, fourth planet in the stellar system we call Dermprelxiaswq. Please wait to acknowledge our signal. Do not transmit before our signal has reached you. Please cease monitoring our system for the moment. We welcome your attempt at communication. You will find attached to this document a full mathematical description of our culture and defined values. Please feel free to peruse it while you wait. Thank You. Delta Quintenux out.”
The two scientists continued to work feverishly and the comdoc stopped.
Washington spoke first as the lights came back up.
“The mathematical document which Hsinto has translated the preface of, contained continued warnings against monitoring, and admonitions not to share this reception with anyone outside our immediate contact group. Metelchek doesn’t feel it’s a robbery scenario. You know, don’t call the cops or we’ll come back and shoot you. But there is definitely a lot of cultural difference going on here. Immediately following the completion of the mathematical transmission, they began jamming us. At least TOCS can’t make any sense of the data, they’re streaming now.”
“The one thing we do know,” chimed in Narayan, “is that the coordinates they give for their location do not match the direction the signal originates from.”
“Where is that?” asked Franklin.
“The Kuiper Belt,” replied Narayan.
“You risked getting a fix on them?” Ngumbo asked horrified.
“Wasn’t any risk at all. The coordinates came out of TOCS automatically. We’re not monitoring them anymore but they are continuing to broadcast to us. So it’s kind of hard not to monitor them.”
“I still think the locus is a mask. Part of their encryption,” said Hsinto.
“I would have thought so too, before I talked to Mr. Five,” said Washington.
“If I may,” said Five.
“Of course,” said Washington, somewhat surprised at the formality.
Standard Five was a Terran. Despite the fact that they all worked on Terra, none of the TOCS team originated on the planet. Terrans had a way about them that seemed old fashioned. Some thought they were simpler, some thought they were snooty, but you could always pick out a Terran. The accent was pronounced, but even without speaking, the Terran just seemed older than everyone else.
After receiving permission to speak, Five drew himself up slowly, turned to the group and smiled. His accent was Terran perfect.
“As Mr. Washington has already made clear, our association received a signal co-incident with yours. The signal was not unusual in our line of work. It was the signal of a non-standard quantum splitter drive. Often these are merely quantum engines out of alignment or a non-standard drive, used, however illegally, for some purpose of construction or engineering quite within the norm. Occasionally they are used to explore what our association calls, ‘Possible Space,’ which the public hears about under the broad heading of alternate realities.
“I can tell I’m beginning to run a bit long at the mouth, so I’ll make this brief. The signal we detected contained certain peculiarities to engines used in possible space penetration. However, as we were about to set course toward the locale of the emission, we received an All Points transmission from Interplanetary Security advising us to avoid the coordinates we had just entered. In other words, the non-standard drive emissions came not only at the same time, but from the same place as your contact signal.
“We’ve since double-checked our records against yours and there’s no doubt these two signals originate from the same locale. However, I doubt seriously they originate from the same device. I am of a different opinion from Mr. Washington here.”
Washington, becoming inpatient with the Terran, burst out, “I believe it’s a hoax or something worse. Mr. Five believes the engine is somehow relaying the signals, either on purpose or by accident.”
“That is correct,” said Five.
“There’s only one way to be sure,” said Five, nodding to Washington. “I invite you all to accompany me on a trip to the Kuiper Belt.”
“That would take days,” said Franklin.
“Not in my ship,” said Five.
Then Franklin remembered. Due to the nature of his work, Standard Five held the only license to operate a ship powered by the Quantum Splitter Drive. They could be at the Kuiper Belt in an hour.
The Britannia dropped out of Splitter Drive and the stars returned to their proper places. The TOCS team sat in the rear observation seats watching the crew work. Washington sat in a consultant seat in the center of the room next to Five, one level above the ship’s captain and the flight crew.
Franklin and Metelchek clasped hands involuntarily as the ship shuddered back into normal space. They looked at each other embarrassed and let go, hoping the others didn’t notice.
“Approaching target coordinates,” barked out the navigation officer.
“Approach in spiral caution pattern standard,” replied the Captain.
Standard Five stood and addressed the TOCS team. The forward observation screen, filled with the dancing ice of the Kuiper Belt, made a dramatic backdrop to the tall immaculately dressed and proper Terran.
“We’ll perform our standard procedure when investigating non-standard drives. However, I would be most grateful if you all could assist in interpreting the data.
“Ms. Hsinto if you would be so kind as to assist Commander Spelten with telemetry. Of course, Mr. Franklin we’ll welcome your help with communications. Lieutenant Montgomery, there. Our engineer, Commander Phelps will welcome your assistance Mr. Narayan. Ms. Ngumbo, there’s an open data station forward, port, in case your particular talents are needed. And Ms. Metelchek, please take the forward starboard data station."
The TOCS team slowly made their way to the different areas of the flight deck. Franklin took a seat next to Lieutenant Montgomery at the Com station.
“Have you used a flight control system before?” the Lieutenant asked, eyeing Franklin with a strange look.
“Yes, I served 2 years on a merchant patrol as communications officer.”
“Excellent,” she said, rolling her eyes a bit. Franklin couldn’t tell if she mocked him or admired him. Everyone knew I.T.S. troops had eccentric ways.
“Come on in close, don’t be afraid,” she said again in a strange lilt. “We’re all just troops here.”
Metelchek, sitting in the auxiliary data station forward and to the right of the com station turned and stared. Franklin swore she glared at Montgomery but he couldn’t be sure. It was bad news if she did. They’d agreed to remain distanced. Metelchek was married.
“Distance approach completed,” the navigation officer snapped.
“Begin standard analysis,” ordered the Captain.
The flight crew worked and Montgomery stuck to business, showing Franklin how to interpret the rather sophisticated data modules employed by the Britannia. Nothing came over the channels other than the data stream currently befuddling TOCS.
“I’ve pinpointed it,” reported the engineer. It’s a Class A Splitter drive operating a buoy. What do you get Montgomery?”
“I see it now. The transmission definitely originates on the buoy.”
“Any idea if it’s the original source?” asked Washington.
“Negative,” replied Montgomery.
“Hold on,” said Franklin, noticing a spike in an encryption channel. “I see something.”
“I see it too,” said Montgomery. “Nice work Franklin,” she said in her mocking voice again.
“The buoy shows a trace identifier of a different transmission source but the splitter drive is accidentally masking it all. If I had to guess, whoever is bouncing the signal off this thing doesn’t know it.”
“I don’t know, Franklin,” said Metelchek, sounding a tad annoyed. “They certainly sounded like they knew who they were talking to.”
“Well, there’s one way to find out,” said Five stepping down next to the Captain’s chair. “Let’s pay them a call. Montgomery, feed the trace identifier data to Lieutenant Noyes and Commander Phelps. If the TOCS team would kindly return to the ob seats, the ride may get a bit bumpy as we leave.”
“Leave where?” asked Franklin
“Our reality,” replied Five evenly.
Franklin woke with Metelchek’s head on his shoulder. He saw nothing but stars on the observation screen and Standard Five gazing out into them. Any normal human blacked out briefly during the leap from one reality to another. Franklin began to wonder about Five’s Terran origins.
“Mr. Franklin,” Five said with apparent surprise. “You have a sturdy constitution. You’ve roused before my crew. Don’t get up, I’m sure you’re still a bit disoriented. After years of working with Splitter drives, I’ve developed a tolerance for the effects of the jump. I daresay you’re a natural though. Watch out or I’ll have you on my team.”
“Where are we?” Franklin asked.
“In Quantum Possibility 305. A mirror universe. Very close to our own. We’re tracing the signal away from the Kuiper belt back into the solar system.”
“Which stellar system?” Franklin asked.
“The Solar System,” replied Five. “Perhaps you thought I was using a quaint generality. It is called, in this universe after the star Sol.”
“Any idea where the signal comes from?” said Franklin rubbing his neck and beginning to feel near normal.
“Yes. Terra.”
Franklin stared in disbelief as Metelchek lifted her head off his shoulder. The flight crew began to rouse and move into action. Franklin explained the news to the rest of the TOCS crew.
“But if the signal came from Terra, why did we have to translate it?” asked Ngumbo.
“Protection?” said Metelchek. “I have a feeling this is a very paranoid version of Terra. Like the jamming, it may have been their way to encode the transmission.”
“That’s a good bet,” said the Captain. “We’re getting all kinds of warnings from different space authorities to maintain course headings and not deviate. It seems like all of them want a piece of the Britannia.”
We’re getting an incoming message in vid,” said Montgomery.
“On screen,” said Five.
“Greetings Britannia this is Terran Orbital Control. Remain calm. Our officials will board you shortly. Welcome back. Control out.”
“What does that mean, welcome back?” asked Washington rising apprehensively.
“It simply means,” said Five turning, “that you’re now back home in your proper reality.”
“What is he talking about?” demanded Ngumbo.
“He’s hijacking us,” said Metelchek.
Franklin didn’t know what to think. If it was a hijacking, the crew of the Britannia was in on it. None of them moved. Only Montgomery looked at him briefly and then turned away. The formal Terran appeared untrustworthy or was that just Franklin’s own dislike of his old fashioned snobbish Terran ways.
“I believe we have someone to talk to us here that will make it all clear,” said Five. “Montgomery. Is she available?”
“Yes sir. Coming on now,” replied Montgomery.
Suddenly a woman appeared on the screen facing them. Franklin’s draw dropped and he involuntarily sat down. It was Marjorie Metelchek.”
“Everyone, I know you won’t believe this, but you have to trust me. Two months ago, Standard Five enlisted our help in tracing an unusual non-standard Splitter signal. In the process we were hijacked by an alternate Terra. Only Five and myself escaped. All of you, except the alternate Metelchek, belong here. We had to fake the signal to get you back. You were all brainwashed to develop a TOCS system for the alternate Terra. They kept you busy so you wouldn’t notice their intention to use it as a weapon against other planets in the system. A slight alteration of TOCS could turn it into a highly focused RF gun. Did you ever notice there was no Astronomy expert on your team? That’s because Phil Hal’eka didn’t go with us when we went to help Five. But you don’t remember Phil, because they brainwashed him out.”
Suddenly a pink light flared all around. Franklin couldn’t tell where it came from until he realized it was happening simultaneously on the observation screen and on the flight deck. Smoke rose from a few instruments and alarms blared.
“We’ve been Emmed, shouted the Captain, full reverse maneuver.”
“No response,” yelled the navigator.
Standard Five turned to the TOCS crew.
“I must apologize but I have been keeping a few things from you. If you’ll come with me I’ll finally explain.”
Five led them through the emergency rear door behind the observation seats, and into the engineering room. At the entry of a few commands, a hatch closed over the emergency door and the floor rose up to the ceiling, which parted and revealed a hatchway. Franklin could hear vague sounds of metal hitting metal outside the hatch.
“I think they’re attached now,” said Five “While we wait for this hatch to open, I’ll attend to a couple things and then explain.”
With a swift motion, Five reached behind Washington and Metelchek’s ears. The two crew members slumped to the floor and smoke rose from their bodies. Franklin looked horrified.
“Quite convincing simulacra,” said Five, “but only the four of you were hijacked. And not from here or where you were but another division of Possible Space altogether, not too far from either of these.”
With that the hatch opened and an alternate Britannia crew reached to help Narayan, Hsinto, and Ngumbo up the hatch. Franklin didn’t budge. The sight of Metelchek slumping to the floor had ruined what little sense of perspective he had left. He admitted to himself now, under a crisis situation, that he loved her. He had failed to keep his expectations within a limited modulation. He couldn’t help himself.
“How do I know which reality I’m really from? The one I left this morning seemed pretty real. How do I know you’re the one to trust?”
“Well I would hope you would trust my word,” said Five, “but I see the predicament you’ve put yourself in. I’m afraid to say anything really, you being a linguistics expert. On top of that your memory’s been altered.”
“You’re right,” Franklin said, drawn into the conversation despite himself. The damned Terrans were so reasonable. They made you want to talk. Made you want to wax philosophical, while things exploded all around.
“It would take an emotional response to convince me,” Franklin said.
“Perhaps I can help,” said Metelchek, climbing down from the hatch.
Franklin started.
“Are you the one from the observation screen?” he asked, barely keeping control. He wanted to run and embrace her, slap her for imitating the dead Metelchek, and kill himself for having any feelings about her at all.
“No I’m the Metelchek from your section of Possible Space,” she said. “Don’t you remember me, honey?”
This Metelchek looked pleadingly at him. He resisted her attempt to persuade him.
“Don’t flirt with me. You know we agreed about this. Or did we? You’re married.”
“Yes John. To you.”
“I’m afraid we don’t have much time,” Five interjected. “Does this convince you.”
Franklin looked around him at the disabled imitation Metelchek, the shaking engineering room, the intense Terran. He had no idea anymore what reality he belonged in or what decision he should logically make. He got the emotional response he wanted and he didn’t know what to do with it. A shudder rocked the ship and a pipe broke above them and water began raining down inside the engineering room. A terrible rain.
“Five! We have to go now!” shouted the Captain from above.
Metelchek held her hand out one more time. She looked imploringly at him and mouthed some words he thought he would never hear.
His mind still had no idea which reality was right. He had no proof of anything. Utterly alone, he had lost even the security of reality. He only knew that he had to move in some direction immediately. His brain worked and worked and could not produce an accurate answer.
He took her hand.