Captain Enton Herotimus Gnask, head of the Third Manned Expedition to Mars, laid down the reports he was reading and wandered to the starboard porthole, there, to gaze past his craggy, iron haired, reflection, and marvel, once again, at the sterile crimson graveyard that was Mars.
      "Looks dead, doesn't it?" said a voice from over his shoulder,
      Gnask, startled, looked up to see Jerry Carsons, his Exec, standing at his side, squat and muscular, with his light brown hair arranged in an out-of-style crewcut. "Indeed it does," he returned, "In fact, it seems almost as dead as the early unmanned exploratory vessels pictured it over half a century ago."
      "It's still hard to believe. though," replied Carsons, that writers like Bradbury and others like him had been closer to the truth than the scientists had been."
      The proof's out there, though," said Gnask pointing to the porthole.
      For a moment, they were both lost in their own thoughts. then, Carsons spoke again, tentatively. "I see you have your 'magic box' on hand."
      As Gnask turned away from the viewport, he saw that his Exec was indicating a small black object on his desk, about the size of the transistor radios of the last century.
      "Yeah," muttered Gnask, laconically. "They gave me one when I replaced Captain Sorenson two years ago." Where's yours?"
      "Back in my cabin," answered Carson's. "Sometimes I have to get away from the damned thing, just to keep my sanity."
      "I understand that," said Gnask, chuckling in spite of himself. "They're enough to drive anyone crazy."
      The boxes had been found long before Gnask had set foot on Mars. They had been tested in every way that the rather extensive scientific core of the expedition could imagine, and a few had been sent to Earth for even more comprehensive study. They had stubbornly resisted all analysis until two technicians had, by chance, grabbed one of the boxes in such a way that it had spoken to them, "Bier De Yrrdi....Di Soran Tai."
      That had, needless to say, caused a major sensation, not to mention raising everyone's hopes for a real breakthrough. Nonetheless, the research stalled again, shortly thereafter, when it was found that, no matter how often the boxes were keyed, no matter how the finger pressure was varied, all the boxes would ever say was "Bier De Yrrdi....Di Soran Tai."
      Gnask reached past Carsons and hefted the little box, lightly in his hand, musing silently about the vagaries of fate.
      "It's no wonder," said Gnask, with a trace of bitterness in his voice, "that the Earth Counsel keeps talking about closing us down in favor of an expedition geared to tap the elemental wealth of Venus."
      "C'mon Captain," said Jerry earnestly, interrupting him, "There are staggering technical problems involved in tapping that wealth, and they don't have any more answers for those problems now then they did when they originally decided to send us to Mars, fourteen years ago."
      "I know that," replied Gnask, sardonically, "But what have we given them as an alternative.... a couple hundred 'magic boxes' that speak one phrase and shut up."
      "That's true," agreed Carsons, "but it's not the whole story. We've learned a great deal about the civilization that existed here, and there have been some new developments. In fact, that's what I came up to tell you about."
      "So, tell me them about them," said Gnask eagerly.
      "Well, there have been two major ones," answered Carsons, with unbridled enthusiasm. 'Do you remember those small chambers that we've found in the buildings that we think were living quarters?"
      Gnask nodded in agreement.
      "Well," said Carsons, continuing, "one of them has started to show evidences of faint electronic pulses whenever anybody enters it."
      Gnask was totally astonished, "You mean, it still functions after all these years. That's unbelievable!"
      "That it is," agreed Carsons, "but it appears to be true, none-the-less, though we still don't know what it does, just that it's active."
      "That's amazing. Is there any chance of getting to the power source?"
      "Not unless we find a convenient break in a wall. That metal is impervious to anything we can throw at it, lasers, atomics, the works."
      "Then we haven't really gained that much?"
      "Not from the chambers, but I have high hopes for the new manuscripts we brought in. They represent the largest supply of fragments that we have found in one location. We hope that they might even be a continuous journal of some sort, and, maybe, that will give Professor Haskins the edge he needs to translate the language."
      Abruptly, Gnask came to a decision. "Come on, Jerry, If we're going to spend our time, fretting about the hopelessness of our task, we might as well do it down in the lab where there just might be a glimmer of hope surviving."
      "We could just call them on the vidphone," said Jerry, grinning.
      Gnask just shrugged his shoulders, as he stuffed the box into his pocket. "I know," He replied, "but I feel a need to be where the progress might be happening."
      "Is that something like being drawn to the firing line, when you're in battle?" said Carsons chuckling.
      "Of course it is," replied Gnask with a grin. "Are you coming?"
      "Lead on Captain, I'm right behind you," Carsons added as they headed for the lift.
      The journey to the lab was a short one, down two gray, but brightly lit corridors, then down the lift, 3 levels to the middle of the ship. They stepped into the lift and descended.
      As they stepped into the lab, Gnask saw the long gangly body of Professor Haskins, Doctor of Linguistics and head of their translating team, at one end of the auditorium sized expanse of the lab, bent over one of the specimen tables examining a small collection of artifacts. Haskins spotted them in return and acknowledged them with a wave.
      Carson's touched Gnask's elbow. "Come this way, Cap, leading him to the other end of the lab. The new manuscripts are over here. Haskin's saw us, and he'll join us as soon as he can."
      Indeed, by time they got to the two long tables, filled with plastic fragments, covered with symbols, Professor Haskins was coming their way, wending his way through piles of large artifacts and around the many sample laden tables that filled the lab.
      "Hello, Jerry, Cap. I see you have some new toys for me to play with. Jorgeson tells me that you think they might constitute a complete manuscript".
      "We hope so," replied Carsons. "There's no way to be sure, or course, until you can do some translating, but they were all found together in a single pile."
      "That sounds encouraging," quipped Haskins. "May I see one please?"
      After a few minutes, in which Gnask was growing increasingly restless, he ventured a question. "Forgive me for being dense, Prof, but why is it proving so difficult to translate these things? Is it the lack of samples, or what?"
      Haskins self consciously scratched behind his ear. "Numbers aren't the problem, Cap. The complexity of the language is. Although we've uncovered only a few hundred fragments, they've contained more than 3 times the number of separate and distinct symbols as those associated with ancient Egyptian. The computers have been unable to handle it. What we need is a Rosetta Stone of some kind, anything that might give us a real insight into the structure of the language." Glaring morosely at the small black box resting in Captains's pocket, he added, "We might have cracked it years ago, if those things hadn't turned out to be 'Johnny One Notes'."
      "Come on, Doc," Gnask replied, laughingly, as he brought his box out. "We can't put all the blame on our little black boxes. Who knows. Maybe they have to be triggered a million times before their tape changes. Maybe they need a swift kick."
      Haskins started to laugh, then turned thoughtful. "You know," he said, "you might have something there."
      Gnask looked thoroughly puzzled, so Haskins amplified, "I'm talking about the repeated use, Captain. It seems absurd, but it's one angle we haven't pursued. I'll set up a lab project with one of boxes. In the mean time, I don't suppose it would hurt to try yours one more time."
      "Sure, Why not?" Gnask replied, reaching down and touching his black box in the appropriate manner. Triggered, the box responded, as they always did, "Bier De Yrrdi....Di Soran Tai", but then, after a brief pause, it spoke again, "How may I serve you?"
      Professor Haskins dropped the manuscript that he was holding. Captain Gnask almost dropped the box. Lieutenant Carsons just stood there, his lower jaw hanging down on his shoes.
      "Wha...Wha...What did you say?" Gnask finally managed to stammer.
      "How may I serve you?" the box answered quickly.
      Gnask glanced briefly to Haskins and Connors, both of whom still appeared to be in a state of shock, then took a deep breath, pulled himself together, and replied. "You might start by telling us how it is that you now appear to understand our language and why it is that you have not demonstrated this knowledge previously?"
      "The answer," replied the box, "is that I am similar to what you refer to as computers, although, the Martians referred to us as 'Thinkers', a term that seems more appropriate in that I am essentially a problem solving device, rather than a device for the storage and retrieval of knowledge. Since one of my functions is the assimilation of data, and since the data I received led to the conclusion that you were trying to communicate with me, I utilized those periods when I was activated to absorb and analyze your language. As I am designed for accuracy, I felt it necessary to hesitate in revealing my endeavors until I felt sufficiently adequate in the language to ensure a high probability of understanding."
      "And how high might that be," queried Carsons, somewhat weakly.
      "About 99.9 to the 8th digit," responded the box, cheerfully.
      "My God, whispered Haskins, and both Gnask and Carson nodded mute agreement. Haskins, then continued the questioning. "Can you translate the manuscripts, we have found, containing Martian handwriting."
      "Of course," replied the box, "assuming you can provide a visual hookup."
      Before Haskins could put voice to the dismay that suddenly showed in his face, Captain Gnask cut in, "I don't believe that will be necessary, Doc, at least not at first. It would seem a Terran-Martian, Martian-Terran dictionary would be of first priority."
      Haskins looked somewhat abashed. "Certainly, Captain, I should have thought of that myself."
      "Don't sell yourself short," Gnask consoled, placing his free hand on Haskins shoulder. "The truth is that this caught us all by surprise. The important thing now is that we take care of business. I'll leave my box here so you can use it in your research."
      "Fine and thanks," Haskins replied, again smiling, "I'll get on it right away."
      Satisfied, for the moment, that the situation was under control, Gnask, turned to his Exec. "Let's go to my quarters Jerry. We have some things to discuss."
      Carsons followed him from the lab, vaguely troubled by the fact that the expression on the Captain's face had not been one of joy and exhilaration but rather had been one of worry and deep concern. The fact that Gnask said nothing as they completed the journey to his cabin did nothing to alleviate that feeling. By the time the Captain had opened his door and let them both in, Carsons was almost bursting with curiosity.
      "All Right, Cap. Out with it. How come you're not overjoyed about this breakthrough like I am; like everyone is going to be as soon as the news spreads. This almost guarantees the success of our mission."
      "I know," Gnask acknowledged, looking even more morose, "But it doesn't feel right. Something's wrong. Maybe it's just that it all happened so suddenly, rather than in a slow orderly fashion. Maybe it's a couple of half-formed questions in my mind that I'd like answers to."
      "Such as?"
      Gnask stared at him for a moment, looking somewhat like a person who had been sucking on a lemon. He was saved from immediate reply by the buzz of the com-system. He turned to it and thumbed the com-accept, "Captain speaking, go ahead."
      "Zimmerman, Sir. I thought you should know. We've had reports from several of the survey teams that black boxes have started speaking Terran."
      "The ones here have too." The Captain replied, seemingly unsurprised by the news, "How widespread is the phenomena."
      "At the moment, only a third of the crews have reported in on it, but I don't know how many crew members keep boxes with them when they are on duty."
      "That's all right, Zimmerman. It doesn't matter. Anything else of importance?"
      "Only one thing, Sir. We're getting strong sunspot activity. It's temporarily knocked out our communications to Earth."
      "How long do you figure that it will last?"
      "That's hard to say, Captain, probably three to four days at least."
      "Ok. That's fine. Thank you Zimmerman. Captain out."
      Thank the stars for small favors, thought Gnask, as he thumbed the com off. Those sun spots gave him good reason for holding back on notifying Earth about developments. His visage, when he turned back to Carsons, was grim.
      "At least, that answers one of my questions."
      "In what way," queried Carsons, looking puzzled.
      "It's simple enough," the Captain replied. "My first question was "how did my black box, 'Thinker', if you will....How did my 'Thinker' pick up that much knowledge of our language, no matter how good it is at assimilating. I know that I haven't kept mine on for more than a few minutes at a time, and mine is one of the newer ones, one that's been in human possession for just over two years. The answer that I was afraid of, and that appears to be true, is that they're all linked."
      "Wait a minute," said Carsons, interrupting, "That's not necessarily true. They have equal capabilities, if they were activated for equal periods of time, it would explain the simultaneous or near-simultaneous ability to speak Terran."
      "Care to give me odds?"
      "No, but it's still possible."
      "Oh, it's possible, all right," Gnask agreed, "But that's not all that's bothering me. For instance, my 'Thinker' told us that it had determined, by itself, our need for communication. It had determined, by itself, that it could facilitate that process by assimilating and translating our language, and it determined, by itself, when to make contact."
      Carsons looked thoughtful. "What are you getting at, Cap, That they appear to self aware, maybe even sapient."
      "That," Gnask agreed, "and more. It brings to mind, one more question, how long did they know and understand Terran before they decided to communicate?"
      Carsons started to answer impulsively, then, checked it back. "That's why you suggested the dictionary as first priority isn't it, so we'd have a check on whatever they told us?"
      Gnask nodded, then Carson had another thought. "It wasn't accidental that you left your "Thinker' in the lab, either, was it?"
      "There were two reasons actually." replied Gnask. The first was the question of weather the box could only hear us when it was turned on, as it claimed."
      It was Carson's turn to nod in agreement, as Gnask continued. "The second reason revolved around the wisdom of having one of them around if it could hear us at all times and didn't approve of what we were talking about."
      Carsons began to look more than a little uneasy himself. "I begin to see what's bothering you," he finally said, "but the problem is, what can we do about it. We can't hide a breakthrough like this from Earth, at least, not for any length of time."
      I know that," muttered Gnask, looking suddenly older, "But the sun spots will help. They'll give us a little time. Then, maybe we'll find our fears are groundless, or maybe, we'll find proof that they're not. Care for a drink?"
      "Sounds like a winner."

----------------


      Three days later, after Jerry had donated his own 'Thinker' to the Lab and Professor Haskins had been apprized of their conclusions and their worries, Gnask and Carsons were again in the Captains's cabin, this time joined by Haskins. All were comfortable, sipping drinks, but none of the three looked happy.
      Haskins broke the silence, "Well, one thing is sure," he said, "the 'Thinkers' are the biggest 'find' that anyone could have hoped for. Their capabilities seem unlimited. First, one of the technicians complained about the slowness of the translating procedure, even though we had given in and constructed the visual hookup that it suggested for the purpose of studying our samples, so a 'Thinker' explained how we could interface it directly with our computers."
      "And you let him!" interrupted Gnask, in a voice tinged with panic, as he almost spilled his drink.
      "No, of course not. Do I look like a fool? and don't answer that," replied Haskins, lightening the moment. "I put the 'tech' off for the time being with some malarkey about checking out the potential of risk to our systems."
      "That's not malarkey," put in Gnask, earnestly. "That's a real issue."
      "I know. I know," replied Haskins, placatingly, "but can you please let me get on with this."
      Gnask nodded, and Carsons chuckled, bringing a frown to Gnask's face.
      "As I was saying," interjected Haskins, before things got further side tracked, "That was just the start of it. They then designed video and printer outputs for themselves, so that they could study exchange data with us more rapidly. The maps that they were able to give us of the old Martian cities have sped up the information gathering process by enabling us to pinpoint where manuscripts are most likely to be found. In fact, We've been able to recover as many manuscripts in the last two days as we had found in ten years or more."
      Carsons took up the summary from there. "They've been helping out in 'little ways' all over the place, devising a way to speed up excavations, and showing us how to cut through those 'impenetrable' walls."
      "And I suppose," interjected Gnask, "That no one but the three of us have expressed any 'trepidations' about the magnitude of their achievements or the social problems they might cause."
      "Not that I know of," Carsons replied. "Everyone seems to be caught up in the euphoria of success."
      "That figures," Gnask sighed, resignedly, then turned, again, to Haskins. "Has there been anything of significance in the manuscripts?"
      "Until this morning," Haskins replied, looking decidedly uncomfortable, "I would have said, no, but I'll get to that in a minute. Most of the fragments are useless, containing only figures or a few meaningless phrases. The ones that are of value seem to indicate that their culture went through a period of upheaval, followed by a period of stability, in which the 'Thinkers' played a major part."
      "I wonder what caused the upheaval?" quipped Carsons, sarcastically.
      "Or, how many died before the stability occurred?" put in Gnask.
      "The 'Thinkers'," replied Haskins, "were undoubtedly, the cause, and we have no way of knowing how many died. The important thing, as far as the Earth Council will be concerned is that things did stabilize. They may decide that a period of upheaval is worth it if it leads to Utopia, and as much as I dislike the prospect, I would have to say that I agreed with that conclusion, at least, until this morning."
      "And, what happened this morning?" asked Gnask, quietly.
      "This morning," answered Haskins, picking his words carefully, "I came across a long manuscript dating from the "Golden Age' of the Martian civilization. It described a Utopia, of sorts; everything automated; robot star ships, going out, faster than light, to explore the galaxy; breakthroughs in all the sciences, but, it was all done by machines, machines designed and built by the 'Thinkers' and their extensions. The Martians, did nothing, nothing at all, but to lie in their beds, hooked to their sensors and feeding devices, and living vicariously, through their machines."
      "My God," whispered Gnask, the knuckles on his hands turning white from gripping the edge of his desk. "They destroyed themselves, and the 'Thinkers' were to blame."
      "Yes," agreed Haskins, somberly, "But not through malevolence, nor even out of misplaced kindness, they simply served them too well."
      "And that's the fate of mankind?" Carsons croaked, his voice filled with despair.
      "Not if I can help it," Gnask declared, determination in his voice.
      The com-system buzzed. Gnask thumbed it on, viciously.
      "Captain here. What is it, Zimmerman?"
      "Sir," Zimmerman began, somewhat timidly, "I thought that you should know, we've re-established communication with Earth, and, Captain," he added, hesitantly, "I'm afraid they've stolen our thunder."
      "In what way," Gnask asked, suddenly afraid of the answer.
      "Why, it's the 'Thinkers', Sir. They already know about them. The ones that they have started talking several days ago, just like ours did. I know you wanted to break the news and I'm sorry that it didn't work out that way."
      "So am I, Zim." Gnask answered, resignedly, suddenly feeling a hundred years older. "So am I. Thank you for the information. I'll check back later." He thumbed the set off and muttered, as if to himself. "The boxes that they'd sent to Earth, I'd forgotten all about them." Then, he turned to Carsons and Haskins, seeing that Haskins had turned ashen and Carsons appeared to have shrunken in upon himself.
      "Well gentlemen," he said, "That appears to have taken it out of our hands. Like it or not, the 'Thinkers' are among us and all of men's dreams are about to come true. I just hope we can remember that living is as important as dreaming."
      He raised his drink. The others joined in. There was nothing more left to say.

- The End -

Copyright © 2008 James R. Hoye