Intergalactic Medicine Show - Issue 04.pdf - Intergalactic Medicine Show - allforjesus2001

Table of Contents

Issue 4

Stories

Tabloid Reporter To The Stars

Wisteria

by Eric James Stone

by Ada Brown

Art by Tomislav Tikulin

Art by Julie Dillon

Call Me Mr. Positive

Beats of Seven

by Tom Barlow

by Peter Orullian

Art b y Jin Ha n

Art by Walter Simon

Approaching Zero

Miniature

b y Kel l y P a rks

by Peter Friend

Art b y T hor ste n Gra mbow

Art b y Nick Greenwood

M oon-Ey e d St ud

by Justin Stanchfield

Art by Liz Clarke

From the Ender Saga

A Young Man w ith Prospects

by Orson Scott Card

Included in Ender in Exile

Art by Jin Han

Read Orson Scott Card's essay

How One Story Can Give Birth to Another

Tales for the Young and Unafraid by David Lubar

by David Lubar

Just Like Me

Art by Lance Card

by David Lubar

Big Otto's Cas ino

Art by Lance Card

Tabloid Reporter to the Stars

Eric James Stone

When I was fired after ten years as a scienc e reporter for the New

York Times , the editor told me I'd never get a job with a decent

paper again. He was right, at first: no one wanted to hire a reporter

who had taken bribes to write a series of articles about a non-

existent technology in order to inflate the value of a company being

used in a stock swindle -- even if I had managed to get off without

serving time.

And that's the only reason I took the job with the Midnight

Obse rv er tabloid. They didn't care that I'd made up a news story --

they were impressed that I'd managed to write something that had

fooled experts for over a year. So began my new career under the

pseudonym of Dr. Lance Jorgensen. The doctorate was phony, of

course, and I never did decide what it was in. I worked that gig for

three years before I caught the break that let me get back into real

journalism.

When the United Nations Space Agency decided to hold a lottery to

choose a reporter to travel on board the first interstellar ship, they

s et s tr ic t qua lif ic at ions : a c ol lege de gr e e in jour na lis m, at leas t f ive

years of experienc e as a scienc e reporter, and current employment

with a periodical or news show with circulation or viewership of at

least one million.

Technically, I qualif ied. So I entered. And a random number

generator on an UNS A computer picked my number.

Less than five minutes after UNS A announced the cr ew of

the Starf arer I , including yours truly as the only journalist, the calls

began. The first was from my old editor at the Times . He wanted me

back on an exclusive basis -- I could name my own price. I'll admit

I was bitter: I told him my price was full ownership of the paper,

and that I'd fire him as soon as I had it. He sputtered; I hung up.

A rtwork by Tomislav Tik ulin

By the end of that week, I had a TV deal with CNN and a print/web

deal with the Washington Post . And so, without a gram of regret, Dr. Lance Jorgensen gave the Midnight Observer h is two weeks' notice.

I was once again Lawrenc e Jensen, scienc e reporter.

A lot of journalists squawked that I didn't deserve to be on the mission because of my scrape with the law, even if I had managed to

avoid a conviction by turning state's evidence. But the rules were on my side for a change: my degree from the Columbia School of

Journalism, my experience at the Times , and the Midnight Observer's seven-million-plus circulation fit the letter, if not the spirit, of the

r ules . Des pite the ir fervent wishes, I made it through spaceflight training without a hitch, and proudly boarded the Starfarer as the world

looked on.

This mission was my chance for redemption. I'd made one big mistake, and I planned to make up for it with accurate, well-w r itten

science reporting that made the wonders of space travel understandable to everyone. I had loved science since I was a kid; if I'd had the

brains to do the math I might have chosen a career as a scientist instead of a reporter. Reporting this mission was my dream job, and I

was determined not to mess things up.

The day we launched, the Midnight Observer ran a cover story claiming that I had been selected for this mission because while working

undercover for them I had already met the aliens the Starfarer would encounter, and they had requested that I serve as Earth's

ambassador. They had even 'shopped a picture of me shaking hands with a stereotypical short, gray, bald, bulge-headed alien.

During all two hundred and twenty-three days of hyperspace travel, my crewmates refused to let me live that dow n.

Fortunately, when we found the aliens, they didn't look anything like that picture.

* * *

The theory behind hyperspace travel involves several dimensions beyond the usual four we humans can perceive. The mathematical

formulas involved in actually making a hyperspace drive work surpass the understanding of the unenhanced human brain. But what the

formulas and the theory don't mention is that traveling by hyperspace is beautiful. The harsh radiation that fills the hyperspacial void

becomes a kaleidoscope of infinite variety as it washes upon our magnetic shields.

* * *

Observations from Hubble III had indicated the possibility of a planet with an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere in this system, and now that

we had arrived, our on-board telescopes had confirmed that the fourth planet had such an atmosphere. I had just finished my third

column for this week's homelink, explaining about non-equilibrium gasses and why this meant there was life of some sort on the planet,

when Singh began pounding on my cabin door.

"Hey, Ambassador, you in there?"

I didn't dignify that by responding.

"Come on, Jensen, open up. I've got a scoop for you."

Narinder Singh was one of Starfarer's xenobiologists, and until we actually got down on the ground, he didn't have much to do except

make guesses based on the limited data our telescopes could gather. So it was unlikely that he had anything important. Besides, since I

was the only reporter on board, there wasn't anyone who could scoop me. But I said, "Come in," anyway.

He opened the hatch and came in. "Look at these." He shoved a handful of eight-by-ten photos in front of my face.

I took the photos and began leaf ing through them. They showed a thin sunlit crescent of planet, which I assumed to be Aurora, the planet

with the good atmosphere. "So, it's nighttime on half the planet. Excuse me while I call my editor and tell him to stop the presses."

"No, look closer at the nighttime side. Over here." He pointed to a region along the equator near the edge of the darkness.

Peering at the photo, I noticed that there were a dozen or so little clumps of bright spots. "You think these are the lights of c ities ?"

"Yes. There's a civilization on that planet. And I want you to remember I came to you with this discovery first."

I looked over at the column I had just finished. I could rewrite a bit to mention Singh's speculations, with plenty of caveats. But it still

seemed a little too flimsy -- and the whole situation with the Midnight Observer story made me leery of anything involving aliens.

"Yeah, I'll remember, if it turns out to be anything. It's probably volcanoes or forest fires or something. Did you run this by Khadil?" Iqrit

Khadil was our geologist. "I mean, if it's really a civilization down there, how come there's no radio traffic?"

"Maybe they haven't developed radio yet. Or maybe they've moved beyond it. But I'm telling you, this is it: a sentient species with at

least rudimentary civilization."

"Look, if you can get Khadil to agree that those are not volcanoes or any other geological phenomenon within the next half hour, I'll put

your speculations in today's column. Otherwise, you'll have to wait till next week, which might be better, anyway, since by then there

might be more evidence one way or the other."

He grabbed the photos back. "I know what I know. I'll talk to Khadil."

* * *

Now that the Starfarer is out of hyperspace, normal radio transmissions would take over one hundred and thirty years to travel to Earth,

making direct two-way communication impossible. So the Starfarer's designers came up with a solution. When we arrived in this solar

system, our ship split into two modules. The Hyperspace Module (HM) and two members of the crew remain in the outer system, where

they can make the jump to hyperspace, while the Orbital Module (OM) heads in toward the planets with the rest of the crew. We send all

our data -- including this column -- to the HM.

It takes six days for the nuclear reactor on the HM to store enough power in the capacitors for the jump to hyperspace. So once a week,

they make the jump and send a radio signal to a ship in hyperspace near Earth. Instead of one hundred and thirty years, the signal only

takes eighteen hours to travel to Earth. The receiving ship then returns to normal space and transmits the data to UNSA headquarters on

Earth, which sends my columns to the Washington Post , who deliver it to your doorstep.

* * *

By the time the OM reached planetary orbit f ive days later, all the evidence pointed to a developing civilization on Aurora, so I decided it

was a good thing I'd included Singh's speculations in my column. We didn't know what the reaction from Earth was yet -- the HM was

still charging its capacitors for its weekly jump into hyperspace to transmit our reports and download communications from home. But

first contact with an alien species, which had always been considered only a slight possibility, transformed our mission from one of

simple exploration into something far greater. I'd already written and rewritten and disregarded several columns about the meaning of all

this. It was probably the biggest news story ever; I was writing history, and I wanted to get the words right.

I wasn't the only one. Commander Inez Gutierrez de la Peña, who was in overall command of our mission, commed me in my quarters in

the middle of the night. The next morning most of the crew would be taking the Landing Module down to an isolated is land in the midd le

of Aurora's larger ocean, and she would take the first human step on a planet outside our solar system. She wanted my opinion on what

she would say upon taking that step.

I was flattered, but feigned irritation out of habit. "It's two in the morning. How'd you know I wasn't sleeping?"

"I checked the power consumption in your quarters and could tell the lights and your computer were on." UNS A hadn't picked Gutierrez

by lottery; she knew this ship six ways from zero.

"OK. Tell me what you've got so far."

She hesitated a moment. "It's no 'One small step,' but . . . 'Human ity has always been a race of explorers. Though in the past we have not

always lived up to our aspirations, letting fear and exploitation rule our encounters with the unknown, today on this new world we have a

chanc e --"

"Blah blah blah. Are you looking to write a pamphlet on social responsibility or do you want to say something that will still be quoted a

thousand years from now?"

"I was thinking that putting the event in its histor ical context --"

"Leave that to the historians and people like me. What you need is a sound bite. Short. To the point, yet something that recalls the dreams

of our first ancestors who looked up at the stars and wondered what lay beyond them."

On my com screen, her face nodded. "I see what you mean. You going to be up a while longer?"

"Yeah. Call me when you come up with something."

I may not have sounded very respectful, but Commander Gutierrez had my respect. Not only was she almost irritatingly competent at her

job, but out of the thirty-seven other members of the crew, she was the only one who had never called me "Amb assador."

It took her six more tries over the next three hours before I thought she had it about right.

The next morning, precisely on schedule, she climbed down the ladder outside the LM's air lock. We could hear her steady breathing over

her spacesuit's com system. When she reached the bottom and took that first step onto Aurora's soil, her voice came in loud and clear.

"Today humanity walks among the stars. Where will we walk tomorrow?"

As those of us on board the LM clapped and cheered, I felt twin twinges of pride and jealousy. Every word I had ever written would be

long forgotten, and still those words would be remembered. They were not mine, but at least I had helped shape them.

I took my little shares of immortality wherever I could.

* * *

Like the generation who as children saw the Wright Brothers fly and as adults saw man walk on the moon, or those who watched the

latter as children and lived to see the first colony on Mars, we are witnesses to the dawn of a new age of humanity. Who knows how far

we will go, following the footsteps of Commander Gutierrez?

* * *

Our landing spot's isolation allowed the biologists to analyze the native life with the least risk of contaminating the planetary biosphere.

Seven days after landing, I got a chance to take a five-minute walk around the is land. Aurora's light gravity -- seventy-eight percent of

Earth' s -- gave a spring to my step despite the weight of the spacesuit.

I daydreamed of spotting something significant during my walk, a scientif ic discovery of my own that I could reveal to a waiting world,

but in the end all that I had discovered for myself was the sensation of walking beneath an aquamar ine sky and looking up at a sun that

seemed too blue and too small.

As far as important discoveries went, I had to settle for the daily breakthroughs of the biologists. The biggest one was the fact that life on

Aurora was not based on DNA, but rather on a previously unknown nucleic acid molecule with a hexagonal cross-section. A few days

later came the finding that the protein building-blocks of Auroran life consisted of twenty-two amino acids instead of just twenty.

Intergalactic Medicine Show - Issue 04.pdf

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