Hannegan glanced at Barnes, then asked, “Can you provide engineering designs and instructional manuals for the antimatter production and containment facilities?”
This time there was no hesitation in the response. “That information is exportable to all species.”
Barnes said, “I think that’s enough for this session. We should return to our ship now. Are we allowed to return at any time?”
“Yes, at any time.”
“We will bring engineers to discuss a high-bandwidth I/O pathway. May they come at any time?”
“Yes, at any time.”
Sandy cut in. “Speaking of which, can you establish a link so that I’ll be able to transmit directly to our ship from here?”
“EM-blocking is an initial precaution. The security system will establish a communications link for you before your next visit.”
Fiorella, who’d kept her mouth shut, jumped in: “George, please: give me one minute. Or two minutes. No more than two minutes. Three at the outside.”
Barnes grinned and said, “Two minutes, Cassie.”
Fiorella moved up to the jukebox with Sandy switching between cameras to provide a range of views. She asked the machine, “Do you have a name?”
“I have understood that you call me jukebox.”
“That’s because you look like an antique music machine from Earth, called a Wurlitzer. Could we name you Wurly?”
“Yes.”
Barnes groaned, Clover laughed, and Fiorella asked, “Wurly, do you have any historical records? Of events in other systems?”
“Yes. My records contain a generalized history of this galactic arm.”
“If you have no information about other species, how can you have a history?”
“Because the history has no specific information about other species. The species are designated by number and date of emergence and tradable items. Specific information on the species is not available through my memory banks.”
“That information must exist somewhere.”
“Yes, that is logical.”
“Do you have tradable items stored here?”
“Yes.”
“Do we have access to them?”
“Under the terms of tradable items, yes. However, you must have items to trade.”
Now Clover got back in: “How can we provide items to trade if our technology is so much lower than star-traveling species?”
“Most tradable items are not technological. One questioner referred to an antique music machine. Music machines are often tradable. There is a trade AI that will determine if your music machines are tradable, and if so, what level of trade you may access. In general, these are not valued highly, as it is very likely that other civilizations already have music machines resembling yours, and manufacturing specifications can be simply transmitted, which is vastly less costly than carrying physical goods between stellar systems. But the actual alien machines may be valued by collectors in some cultures, as visual artworks are in yours. Some musical compositions might also be tradable, for similar reasons.”
Sandy: “We gotta have a hundred and fifty instruments on board—I’ve got eight guitars down in the fab shop area, and we’ve gotta have a million songs on file, from Bach to Kid Little.”
Barnes said, “Yeah, yeah, we’ll discuss that later.”
Clover raised a finger. “Uh… Wurly… are there any classes of trade goods that we ‘primitives’ might have that would garner us more trade credit?”
“You are not considered ‘primitives,’ merely less technologically advanced.”
Clover muttered into a private comm channel, “It doesn’t get sarcasm. Probably not a high-level AI, as it says… or it’s a great faker.”
The answer-bot continued. “Physical art artifacts are valued by species with similar sensory systems and possessed of an inclination toward acquisitiveness. These are worth something. Comestibles can also be rated highly, especially those that cannot be duplicated based on the transmission of data.”
Stuyvesant jumped on that—her specialty, biology. “Oh, come on. You’re telling me different species from entirely different ecosystems can eat each other’s food?”
“Very rarely. On the infrequent occasions when the biologicals are compatible, though, those can be highly prized trade goods.”
Clover said, “Makes sense to me. How much were rich folks in Europe willing to pay for spices a few hundred years ago? Stuff we take for granted, like peppercorns. A king’s ransom. And that’s not an exaggeration.”
Stuyvesant pondered for a moment. “Hmmm, there’s the commander’s tea—you can’t transmit ‘specs’ for that. And I’ve heard rumors there’s some pretty good booze squirreled away somewhere.”
Clover winced. “I’ll work on a list.”
Barnes got back to the jukebox: “Is there any limit on the number of trades?”
“Not exactly. Trade items are evaluated by a trade computer and assigned a total numerical value between 1 and 8. You may leave the items and choose trade items with a similar total value.”
“Was that top number chosen because your makers use a mathematical system with a base eight?” Stuyvesant asked.
“I have no information about my makers.”
“Is your native mathematical system in base 8?”
“Yes, except for our mathematical computer languages. However, when speaking with you, I convert all numbers to base 10.”
Stuyvesant: “When you have new arrivals, does the station provide them with a relevant environment, as you did with us?”
“Yes, if it is within the station’s means. Not all species can be accommodated. Those that cannot be accommodated always have means to maneuver in space, so they do that.”
“Do all species require gaseous environments?”
“No. Some require hybrid gas-liquid environments.”
Clover: “Does the size of your entry air lock and entry hall suggest that other species may be quite large?”
“Yes.”
“This was supposed to be my two minutes, goddamnit,” Fiorella said. To the jukebox: “Wurly, do you have a message for the people of Earth?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
Wurly said, “Hello, people of Earth.”
Fiorella: “Anything more?”
“No.”
Barnes muttered, “Well, shit, that was inspiring. I’m calling an end to this… again. Everybody ready? Let’s go.”
Leaving was as simple as the arrival. From the bus, Sandy fired the contents of his camera’s memory back to the Nixon. It was gone in a few seconds; they were gone in another minute.
42.
Back at the Nixon, the contact team stepped through the air lock and found themselves face-to-face with a room full of people, easily half the ship’s complement, clapping, cheering. Fang-Castro was leading the cheer and even Crow was smiling.
The commander stepped forward. “Congratulations to you all. You just made history.” She turned to Sandy. “Mr. Darlington, job well done. The recordings and data you beamed back are already on their way to Earth.”
To the rest of them, she said, “I’ll give you a half hour to decompress, and use the facilities, but then I need you all in the Commons to discuss what you learned. Captain Barnes, you’re headed for isolation, but we’ve got vid and sound ready for you. We are indebted to you for your courage in making yourself a guinea pig: I will recommend to the commandant of the Marine Corps that you be awarded the Bronze Star. I believe you deserve better than that, but nobody has yet defined our aliens as an enemy force. In any case, I’m sure we are all inspired by your selfless act.”