Edward M. Lerner - Dangling Conversations

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First published in Analog, November 2000

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies

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CHAPTER 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.

From a terrace kept comparatively uncrowded by the chill evening breeze off Lake Geneva, Dean

Matthews observed the gathering. Inside the hotel's Great Ballroom mingled dozens of international civil

servants and hundreds of national delegates. There was an even larger number of “accredited industry

observers.” Matthews was one of the lobbyists, representing NetSat, a broadband satcom company.

Completion of a World Administrative Radio Conferencewas cause for celebration. New wireless

technologies, and the implacable growth of older ones, kept the demand for spectrum high. For reasons

of historical interest only, many radio bands had differing uses in different parts of the world: a big

problem as more systems went global. Users of old systems were entitled to replacement bandwidth

when new applications supplanted earlier frequency assignments.

The International Telecommunications Union took the lead in reconciling the many competing claims.

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That made the ITU an essential, if underappreciated, part of the global economy. Multi-billion-dollar

fortunes rose and fell with the outcome of ITU negotiations.

A waiter glided by with champagne. Matthews took a flute for himself and one for his companion.

“Congratulations, Madame Secretary-General.”

They clinked glasses.

“You, too.” Fair enough: the WARC had just authorized a frequency range for new broadband services

that was compatible with NetSat's working prototype.

Bridget Satterswaithe, the Secretary-General of the ITU, turned to the lake. Great yachts bobbed at

anchor, brightly lit by marina spotlights. She sipped her champagne. “Now that the conference is over, I

look forward to some sailing. Maybe see my parents in London. Even a quiet...”

Buzzing interrupted her; she retrieved the cell phone from her clutch bag. She appeared surprised at the

caller ID on the display. “Please excuse me—I have to take this.”

He took the stairs from the terrace down to the marina, giving Satterswaithe some privacy. Waves

lapped peacefully against the shore. The wooden pier creaked under his tread. He, too, anticipated some

well-deserved rest.

She rejoined him, sans champagne. She seemed shaken. “You're not going to believe why you won't be

getting that bandwidth after all.”

* * * *

Dean held a PhD in physics and an MBA in international trade. With ten years of telecomm experience,

he was, in Internet years, a grizzled veteran. As VP of Strategy and Technology for NetSat, his job

entailed much more than lobbying the ITU and its national counterparts for bandwidth.

None of that experience prepared him for Bridget's news.

She had insisted that they go first to ITU headquarters, and would not discuss it—whateverit was—in

the limo.

She now leaned against a corner of her desk. “This all becomes public knowledge tomorrow. It's been

predistributed to governments and the appropriate international scientific bodies. I'm bending rules only

slightly by telling you tonight. I'm doing so because, in one very narrow sense, the biggest impact will be

on NetSat.

“Of course, life as we know it will also change.”

She had his full attention.

Her call had been from the Secretary-General of the United Nations, parent body to the ITU. The

International Academy of Astronautics and MIT were co-hosting a press conference in the morning. Dr.

Sherman Xu, the discoverer, would give the first public announcement of a confirmed radio signal

indicative of extraterrestrial intelligence. The ITU would immediately initiate an Extraordinary

Administrative Radio Conference to fence off the frequencies used by the extra-solar signal.

ET must be using frequencies near those sought by NetSat. Despite his months of effort to secure the

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desired spectrum, the professional and personal impacts seemed inconsequential. Intelligent alien life!

Satterswaithe extracted a decanter of amber liquid and two glasses from her credenza. “The formation

of a UN task force will also be announced, 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 accepted a glass. “I have a terrific job at a world-class company. As of two minutes ago, that

doesn't matter to me. This news is epochal. I want to be involved.”

“My impression is that the team will consist of national government and UN personnel, plus academics.

Sorry.”

He canted his head thoughtfully. He'd been an RF engineer and systems architect before moving into

management. He'd been a SETI (Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence) enthusiast for longer. Perhaps

he had the basis for an inference that would impress her. “Let's see what I know about ET that you

haven't shared.

“I don't need to tell you that the universe is full of radio noise, or that most of that noise is outside the

microwave band. At one end of the microwave window, at a wavelength of 21 centimeters, is the neutral

hydrogen line. Hydrogen is the most common element in the universe, so the SETI folks deduce that's the

radio-dial marker to listen near.

“The OH ion radiates nearby, at 18 centimeters. H plus OH equals H2O: water. That's why the SETI

crowd calls wavelengths between 18 to 21 centimeters the ‘watering hole,’ around which they theorize

intelligent species will congregate.”

He tested the liquid in his glass: an unblended Scotch. Served neat: without ice or water. “Of course,

that's a water-chauvinist's perspective on SETI.”

He knew that the SETI Institute had examined the nearest thousand stars at watering-hole wavelengths

without success. He inferred a NetSat conflict with ET's signal, far from the watering hole. He hadn't read

much about SETI work at MIT. All factors pointed away from a finding at the watering hole.

He rolled the dice. “I predict that ET's signal is about 6.7 centimeters: the hydrogen wavelength divided

by pi.” Pi was the only transcendental divisor of the hydrogen wavelength that could cause a conflict for

NetSat. “That would be a good indicator of a signal from intelligent beings.”

Her raised eyebrow confirmed his speculation.

“Where is the signal from?”

“Lalande 2-something. I hadn't heard of it.”

“Probably Lalande 21185.” The adult physicist had once been a boy with a four-inch telescope. A Web

search agent kept him current at a hobbyist level with major astronomical news. “It's one of the stars

closest to Earth, about eight light years. Near Leo Minor. It's been believed since 1996 to have at least

one planet, Jupiter-sized.”

She was silent for several minutes, making up her mind. “I can't promise anything, but I'll see what I can

do.”

* * * *

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Bandwidth alone didn't guarantee a successful satcom company—NetSat also needed to put its birds

into orbit. Some of their launches were booked on Russian and Chinese boosters. That had meant

obtaining licenses to export satellites to the foreign launch sites. Andthat meant Matthews knew people

in the State Department.

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 Alex Klein, American ambassador to the

UN.

The diplomat was as circumlocutory as Matthews 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 Matthews 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 task force deliberations.

CHAPTER 2

Held at a Caribbean resort, 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; a smattering of UN

guards turned away uninvited members of the press.

The people at the registration table disavowed all knowledge when Dean had questioned the round red

sticker on his name tag. It related, he presumed, to the as-yet undefined committee structure of the task

force. Five colors were in use; no one whose name he recognized had red.

The auditorium doors opened, and the crowd surged inside. The Secretary-General of the UN gave the

obligatory pep talk by satellite link. He introduced Kim Chun Ku, the Undersecretary-General for

Administrative Affairs, as (the day's first news) head of the task force. The SG was followed by

Ambassador Juan Roderigo of Argentina, currently heading COPUOS, the Committee on the Peaceful

Uses of Outer Space.

Sherman Xu reprised his big announcement of two days before. The signal appeared to come from

Lalande 21185. The carrier signal was at the hydrogen wavelength divided by pi. Like naturally occurring

cosmic radio sources, the faint signal faded in and out. Unlike natural radio sources, the carrier was

modulated with a narrowband signal, under 300 Hertz. About every 30 hours the signal included a

sequence of pulses: pulse, pause, two pulses, pause, three pulses ... up to 128 pulses. That pulse

sequence was repeated once.

A complex-seeming message followed the easy-to-recognize pulse sequences for thirty hours. The cycle

then apparently repeated, although that conclusion was tentative due to noise and signal fading. His team

hoped to have synthesized the full message within a week—if the signal persisted that long.

It was almost noon when Kim Chun Ku claimed the podium. Kim's remarks confirmed what his title

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plainly said: he was an administrator. His third viewgraph was an organization chart: five colored boxes.

As one, the audience members glanced at their name badges. Whispered conversations erupted.

Kim tapped the mike until order returned, and he confirmed that colored stickers denoted committee

assignments. After lunch, at committee breakout sessions, complete rosters would be made available.

The gold team, at the top of the chart, sounded like what Bridget had called the steering committee. Kim

led the gold team. Membership included the leaders of the still undefined other teams, famous names

from the SETI community, two assistants to ambassadors from COPUOS-participating countries, and a

few UN agency heads like Bridget.

Blue team dealt with radio engineering: signal acquisition and recovery. They would work with the ITU

on reducing Earth-originated interference in ET's preferred frequencies, and coordinate among radio

observatories worldwide monitoring ET's signal. Blue team was mostly radio astronomers, including

Sherman Xu, with some of Bridget's staff thrown in.

Green team owned what struck Matthews as the part of the project most likely to be second-guessed:

analysis. They were tasked with decoding and interpreting ET's message. Membership included lots of

SETI folks, a codebreaker from the National Security Agency, mathematicians, and linguists.

Gray team would ponder Earth's possible response. Opening a dialogue with another civilization was not

about science: this committee was entirely staffed by diplomats assigned by the Security Council.

Mathematicians and linguists from Analysis would encode Earth's message after a reply, if any, had been

strategized.

And the red team? The best hadnot been saved for last.

Red denoted the media and education committee. They were to coordinate the release and positioning

of everyone else's results. Red team would also field questions and unsolicited suggestions. Matthews’

teammates were pool reporters, PR flacks, educators, and—oh, joy!—a multicultural behavioral

response team.

Why was he on the red team?

* * * *

“And so,” concluded Paul Ricard, “our role is to package and control the Lalande information, while

respecting various cultural sensitivities. After a short break, I propose to discuss process concepts for

that mission.”

The red-team leader had spoken for twenty minutes, without conveying any more than his summary. The

viewpoint was what Matthews expected from a PR flack, even one with a prestigious UN title. Dean

cleared his throat.

“Dr. Matthews, have you something to add?”

Unfortunately, he did. “Yes, actually. I don't think our charter, as you've spelled it out, can be

accomplished.”

“Why is that?” Ricard was more condescending than curious.

Matthews had sensed, when the session opened with brief introductions, that he was not alone in

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wondering about his assignment. As he had suspected, Dean was the only member with a

physical-sciences background.

“We don't have a monopoly on ET information.” The media reps, who were being mysteriously docile,

seemed to suffer from the misapprehension that task-force membership guaranteed a lock on all Lalande

news. “If we withhold or spin any findings, we'll discredit the whole task force.”

“I question the premise.” Ricard was miffed. “We've brought into the task force the leadership of every

major radio telescope. Surely we can rely upon their cooperation in the responsible release of

discoveries.”

Irrelevant even if true. “In days, universities worldwide will be monitoring ET directly. They can easily

build an adequate receiver from arrays of commercial satellite dishes. Thanks to Dr. Xu, they know

exactly where to point the antennas and the frequency to tune to. And they'llall be racing to post

observations and interpretations on the Web.”

Many surprised looks were exchanged about the room before Ricard found his voice. “How sure are

you about this?”

“Very. As you know, I'm on leave of absence from a satcom company, one of many such firms. Any of

a dozen people from my former staff could do this.”

“Dr. Matthews?” asked Amreesh Shah, a psychologist from the behavioral-response group. “What

would you propose?”

“Publish our observations rather than filter them. Clearly mark as commentary any ‘adjustments’ we may

choose to make.

“While we won't have a monopoly on the signal, we will have resources far beyond those of other

listeners. If our postings are prompt and objective, our interpretations insightful,we become the preferred

source of ET data. If we hold back, however well-intentioned our reasons, the best we can hope for is

marginalization by other news sources. At worst, who knows what motives will be ascribed to us?

There's no shortage of people who see conspiracies all around them.”

Shah nodded. “Distrust is the result we can least afford.”

That was one point everyone in the committee agreed upon.

* * * *

From the SETI Conspiracy chat room

Suspect_Everyone: Does it strike anyone else as suspicious that the UN is orchestrating the Lalande

investigation?

UFO_believer : Absolutely! And who's behind this “International Academy of Astronautics"?

42_is_true : I'd sure like to see the ET message text from a reliable source, not the US government, and

*certainly* not the UN.

Suspect_Everyone : Does it strike anyone else as suspicious that it's suddenly hard to buy satellite

dishes?

* * * *

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Bridget idly flapped the paper umbrella from her tropical punch. Open, close, open, close. “Quite a

meeting.”

Satterswaithe was an electrical engineer by training, with a PhD from Oxford. She'd gone straight from

university to a British government research establishment. That had been a stepping stone to the ITU,

which, after a succession of promotions, she now headed. An adult life spent in bureaucracies had not

diminished her determination to make things happen. She had, however, developed a tolerance for

committees that Matthews could not fathom.

Dean favored a local beer he'd discovered on the first night of the kickoff. Delightful microbrew

notwithstanding, he was eager to get back to the States. He and Satterswaithe had met in the airport bar,

awaiting their separate flights. “It turned out okay. Maybe I'll cancel the mob contract I took out on you.”

“For accomplishing what you pleaded for?”

“Requested in a dignified manner.” He gestured for another round. “No, for putting me with the social

scientists and spin doctors. Look, I respect their sincerity and good intentions, but I'venever met so

many people who see the glass as half empty.”

“Don't blame me or the gold team. Yours was one of the few assignments Kim had made before

Steering even met.” A boarding announcement from a staticky PA drowned out her next words.

“What?”

“I asked, ‘So how is it that things turned out okay?’.”

“Had it been my choice, I would've had a tough time deciding between Signals, Analysis, and Reply. It

occurred to me that someone on the red team has to liaise with those other committees. A technically

oriented interfacer made sense. So I've gotten myself access to all of the information that Steering has,

without, no offense, enduring all of that bureaucratic ponderousness.”

“No offense taken.” She laughed. “Well, maybe a little. In any case, I'm off to my gate. I'm glad it

worked out for you.”

He decided he was glad for her abrupt departure, which avoided the awkward question about whom,

since it wasn't the steering committee, wanted him on the Media & Education team. It couldn't have been

Kim's idea: Kim knew nothing about him.

At least the Undersecretary-General was unlikely to have heard about Matthews absent input from the

US ambassador.

* * * *

From the Earth First chat room.

All_Politics_Is_Local: So what's with the Lalande task force and its closed-door ‘organizational’

meeting?

Stop_World_Government : What's the UN *always* up to? ET's message is simply another excuse for

worldwide government. Whatever the task force is for ... I'm against.

All_Politics_Is_Local : It's welfare for rich-country scientists. Would a Bangladeshi textile worker

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