InterstellarNet: Origins

Frontmatter

Copyright Information

InterstellarNet: Origins incorporates, with substantial revisions, material from the following:

“Dangling Conversations” first appeared in
Analog Science Fiction and Fact
(November 2000)

“Creative Destruction” first appeared in
Analog
Science Fiction and Fact
(March 2001)

“Hostile Takeover” first appeared in
Analog Science Fiction and Fact
(May 2001)

“Strange Bedfellows” first appeared in
Artemis: Science and Fiction for a Spacefaring Age
(Winter 2001)

“Calculating Minds” first appeared in
Jim Baen’s Universe
(April 2009)

This novel is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in it are likewise fictional, and any resemblance to real people, organizations, or events is purely coincidental.

visit the author’s website at
www.sfwa.org/members/lerner/

cover art by: N. Taylor Blanchard

artist’s website: www.ntaylorblanchard.com

ISBN 0-9818487-4-5

ISBN-13: 978-0-9818487-4-7

Copyright © 2010 Edward M. Lerner

All rights reserved

FoxAcre Press

Takoma Park, Maryland

www.FoxAcre.com

Dedication

Dedicated to the search for

extraterrestrial intelligence

Books by Edward M. Lerner

Probe

Moonstruck

Creative Destruction
(collection)

Fools’ Experiments

Small Miracles

InterstellarNet: Origins

InterstellarNet: New Order

In collaboration with Larry Niven

(the Fleet of Worlds series)

Fleet of Worlds

Juggler of Worlds

Destroyer of Worlds

Betrayer of Worlds

Foreword

Some of my most popular magazine fiction deals with an alternate/future history that splits off from our familiar timeline in 2002. The triggering event: a radio signal from extrasolar aliens.

In episodes spanning more than a century, the InterstellarNet stories chronicled humanity’s discovery of its interstellar neighbors, the formation and evolution of a radio-based interstellar trading community, and the long-distance jockeying for advantage among species.

So: SETI, alternate and future history, and aliens. It’s a lot—and a lot of fun—to play with.

Over the years these stories have generated bunches of email (thanks!) and requests that I continue the saga. And readers often ask where they can find earlier episodes—the first InterstellarNet story saw print in 2000—and I’ve had no good answer for them.

Till now.

InterstellarNet: Origins
incorporates and expands all but one InterstellarNet episode. (
InterstellarNet: New Order
, a standalone novel, picks up the future history after the close of this book.)

Thanks for the nudge.

Edward M. Lerner

DANGLING CONVERSATIONS

A.D. 2002

1

Dom Perignon flowed and beluga vanished. A chamber orchestra played Bach. Crystal chandeliers sparkled and gold-rimmed china gleamed. An indoor fountain sprayed upwards around an enormous ice swan.

The ITU knew how to party in style.

Dean Matthews observed the gathering from a broad stone terrace kept all but empty by the chill night breeze off Lake Geneva. Inside the hotel’s Grand Ballroom dozens of international civil servants mingled with hundreds of national delegates. There was an even larger number of “accredited industry observers.” Dean was one of the lobbyists, representing NetSat, a broadband satcom company.

A World Administrative Radio Conference successfully concluded
deserved
celebration.

New wireless technologies and the implacable growth of older ones kept the demand for spectrum high. Too many radio bands, for reasons of historical interest only, had differing uses in different parts of the world: an ever bigger problem as more systems went global. Users of old systems were entitled to monetary compensation and replacement bandwidth when new applications supplanted earlier frequency assignments.

The International Telecommunications Union took the lead in reconciling the many competing claims. That made the ITU an essential, if underappreciated, part of the global economy. Multi-billion-dollar fortunes rose and fell with ITU decisions.

Dean had spent weeks in Geneva so that one of those fortunes would accrue to NetSat.

A waiter glided by with champagne. Dean took a flute for himself and one for his companion. “Congratulations, Madame Secretary-General.”

They clinked glasses.

“You, too, Dr. Matthews,” Bridget Satterswaithe said. She turned toward the lake. Great yachts bobbed at anchor, brightly lit by marina spotlights. In a black cocktail sheath, auburn hair swept up, delicate crystal ware in her slender hand, she cut a far different figure than the hard-charging, severely tailored ITU executive who had kept the WARC on track. For the first time in their brief acquaintance, she seemed relaxed. It worked for her. “Now that the conference is over, I look forward to some sailing. Maybe visit my parents in London. Even a quiet…”

Her clutch bag buzzed and she took out a cell phone. The caller ID seemed to surprise her. “Please excuse me. I have to take this.”

Dean obsessively read everything in eyeshot: Post-It notes, cereal boxes, CD album covers, TV crawlers, scribbled notes on wall calendars—everything. The practice had ticked people off at him more than once, but, it was what it was. A habit. Reflex. Before Satterswaithe turned away, he had noticed the text on the cell’s backlit display.
Sec Gen.
Of the United Nations itself, he presumed.

Bosses have prerogatives.

“I’ll catch you later.” Dean took the stairs from the hotel terrace down to the marina, giving her some privacy. Waves lapped peacefully against the shore. The wooden pier creaked under his tread. He, too, looked forward to some well-deserved rest.

Then
his
cell went off. He checked caller ID.

Bosses have prerogatives.

“What’s up, Barb?” He glanced at his wristwatch: a bit after nine. Three in the afternoon back in Virginia.

“I don’t exactly know,” Barbara White answered. “Sorry to interrupt the big soiree, by the way. You earned a night off.

“Anyway, Dean, some crazy radio astronomer at MIT has been harassing the ISE-1 ops center. Now he’s harassing me, and I have a board meeting tonight to prep for. I’m putting you on speakerphone. You need to hear a message from my voicemail.”

ISE-1. The proof-of-concept comsat for Internet Service Everywhere. The WARC had
just
approved the frequency allocation with which—after launching many more satellites—NetSat would provide worldwide mobile broadband coverage.

“Go ahead, Barb.”

“This is Sherman Xu,” someone shouted in a deep, agitated voice. “
Again
. NetSat must suspend operation of its communications satellite. The broadcasts are interfering with observations of critical importance, dealing with urgent matters I cannot explain at this time. Your operations center refuses to listen.

“Dr. White, you run the company. You can make it happen.” That was followed by excited background chatter, muffled as though by a hand over the mouthpiece. “You
must
suspend operations. It is imperative. And it will happen soon anyway, once the authorities get in touch.” And after a pause, plaintively, “I implore you.”

“What do you make of that?” Barb asked.

“MIT, you say?” Dean had not ended up at an aerospace company by accident. Astronomy, spaceflight, and SETI (search for extraterrestrial intelligence) had fascinated him since childhood. He still used his old four-inch telescope when he found the time. “MIT operates a twenty-seven-meter dish about forty miles outside Boston. Haystack Observatory.”

“Which tells us what?”

“Nothing, really.” Dean tried to make sense of it. “I can call and ask for more information.”

“Won’t help.” She sighed. “I’ve tried. More ‘I am not allowed to tell.’ The man is ready to burst with excitement and frustration about
something
.”

“Get ready for your board meeting, Barb. I’ll think on it, see what else I can find out, and get back to you.” He broke the connection.

At the head of the stairs, Bridget Satterswaithe had finished her call. She looked—shaken.

Dean rejoined her. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a lobbyist.”

She forced a smile. “Just a heads up about a press conference tomorrow morning. No rest for the wicked.”

Secretaries-General of the UN worried about war and peace and international disasters. Didn’t they? Whatever they did, Dean doubted they worried much about radio spectrum. And two such curious phone calls so close together…

“The Sherman Xu announcement,” Dean guessed.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Satterswaithe blinked. She was a terrible liar.

“
My
boss called, too. Dr. Xu asked—demanded—that NetSat suspend operations.”

She nodded. “You should. You’ll hear why tomorrow.”

Why would ISE-1’s operation or radio astronomy suddenly interest the Secretary-General of the United Nations? Only one possibility made any sense to Dean. SETI. Or, rather, that the search had found extraterrestrials.

His mind raced. He knew a fair amount about SETI. Radio noise filled the universe, and most of that noise fell outside the microwave band. Near one end of that band, neutral hydrogen radiated at a wavelength of twenty-one centimeters. The SETI folks had decided, since hydrogen was the most common element in the universe, that twenty-one centimeters was a radio-dial marker to listen near. The OH ion radiated nearby, at eighteen centimeters. H plus OH equals H2O: water. The SETI crowd called the spectrum between eighteen to twenty-one centimeters the “water hole,” around which they predicted intelligent species would congregate. Too cute a name but logical, Dean had always thought.

Only the SETI Institute had examined the nearest thousand stars at water-hole wavelengths—without hearing anything unusual. And Dean knew of no recent SETI work at MIT. And ISE-1 operated far from the water hole, around 6.7 centimeters. Less than a third of the wavelength of neutral hydrogen.

The pieces came together.

Dean said, “The neutral-hydrogen wavelength divided by pi. That’s the carrier signal. That sure sounds like a sign of intelligence to me.”

“I suggest,” Satterswaithe said, “that we go someplace private to talk.”

■□■

Within minutes of Satterswaithe’s call, a limo glided up to the hotel’s main entrance. The S-G gig evidently had its perks. Dean climbed into the limo after her.

“ITU Building,” she told the driver.

His questioning look drew a slight headshake. Don’t ask. No discussion in the car.

He took the opportunity to call his boss. “Barb, it’s me. Yes, suspend operations.”

“That was awfully fast. So the ITU is in on this? What’s their interest?”

“I don’t know much, Barb, and what little I do know I can’t talk about.” Dean felt a bit of empathy for Sherman Xu. “I think we’ll all know more sometime tomorrow.”

“So what is this about?” Barb persisted.

“Gotta go, Barb,” Dean said. “Trust me and suspend operations.” He hung up.

Satterswaithe smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Matthews.”

They reached the ITU Building and made their way past surprised nightshift guards to her top-floor office. She shut the door. “Now we can talk.”

Only where to begin? In the interminable five-minute limo ride, Dean had had an epiphany. He understood the science of SETI, but he had given little thought to what happened if—apparently, when—someone detected a signal. That had always seemed too theoretical. No more. “So there’s going to be a big announcement tomorrow?”

“Ten a.m. in New York. The word has been quietly distributed to governments worldwide and the appropriate international scientific bodies. You’ve figured out much of it already. I’ll share the rest…
if
you’ll keep everything to yourself until after the press conference.”

There was only one possible answer. “Of course.”

“The International Academy of Astronautics and MIT will jointly open the press conference. Dr. Xu will make the announcement. His team at Haystack first detected the signal, but three more observatories confirm it. Everyone believes the signal is indicative of an extraterrestrial intelligence.

“Once the scientists finish, the Secretary-General will have his say. As a small part of that, I’ll be tasked to call an Extraordinary Administrative Radio Conference. We need to fence off the frequencies used by the alien signal.”

Including the frequencies NetSat had hoped to use. Despite Dean’s months of effort the loss seemed inconsequential. Intelligent alien life!

Satterswaithe took a decanter of amber liquid from her credenza. She half-filled two glasses. “The S-G will announce a UN task force, reporting to the Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space. Since ET uses radio, I’ve been asked to participate on behalf of the ITU.”

He took a glass. “I want to be involved.”

“My impression is that the team will consist of national government and UN personnel, plus academics.” She looked genuinely sorry. “What else can I tell you?” Changing the subject.

He sipped. It was an unblended Scotch, very smooth. “Where is the signal from?”

“Lalande 2-something. It means nothing to me.”

“Probably Lalande 21185. It’s one of the stars closest to Earth, about eight light-years. Near Leo Minor. 21185 has been believed since 1996 to have at least one planet, Jupiter-sized.”

“You really do follow this sort of thing.”

“When the day job doesn’t get in the way,” Dean said. “Without new spectrum, that doesn’t look to be a problem.” For the sake of friends and colleagues at NetSat, he hoped he was joking.

Satterswaithe was silent for several minutes, making up her mind. “I can’t promise anything, Dr. Matthews, but I’ll see what I can do about getting you onto the task force.”

■□■

Bandwidth alone did not guarantee a successful satcom company—NetSat also needed a plan for getting its birds into orbit. Some launches had been booked on Russian and Chinese boosters. That had meant obtaining licenses to export satellites to the foreign launch sites. And
that
meant Dean knew people in the Department of State.

The connection worked.

His assistant reached him on the flight from Switzerland. No need to dash across JFK for the plane to Washington—he had an urgent appointment in Manhattan with Dr. Alexander Klein, the American ambassador to the UN.

The diplomat was as circumlocutory as Dean was direct. In some manner, it would seem, with vague attribution to the auspices of the Department of State, and in public-minded and full support of a recommendation from the Office of the Secretariat of the ITU, it would appear—that Dean was in! He should expect an invitation to join the Lalande task force.

The implication was clearer that Klein’s office was available to Dean as a resource.

Unambiguous, if deniably oblique in its delivery, was the subtext that Dean should be forthcoming with any data of a “national security nature” that might arise during the deliberations of the task force.

2

Held at a deluxe Caribbean hotel, the kickoff meeting of the Lalande task force could have been mistaken for a corporate boondoggle. The remote island was far from most of the idly curious, if not from Charise Ganes’s impoverished homeland. A smattering of United Nations guards sufficed to turn away uninvited members of the press.

The registration line stretched far ahead of Charise, snaking around the sunlit lobby. The opening session, she predicted, would be opening late.