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Decoding the Spacecode:
Contest Guidelines
Caribbean Union.
DECODE THE SPACE CODE CONTEST GUIDELINES.
Announcing the First Government Contest based off our admitted failure. The United States of The Americas (USTA) has never admitted defeat before, so this is an official history making event, but it is a failure world-wide. Government scientists from the USTA, the Union of Europe, the Chinese Federation and all other countries of the world concede. They have no idea what it means. As all of humanity has to know, on September 11, 2073, the world as we knew it, truly changed. Not from a petty regime change like in 1977, Santiago, Chile. Not a move to preemptive aggressive imperialism by and then against Islam in 2001. That was just politics. Any historian will tell you politics are nothing but change. This, on the other hand, was actual, not political, but place in the Universe, change. Change in a fundamental human concept. The now, fraudulent belief that mankind was unique in the Universe. It is almost dumbfounding, humbling, that we once thought the only intelligent species in the Galaxy was humans on Earth. Our hubris was shattered that day five years ago. Our collective flimsy ego-centric Ego was so easily stripped away. It was almost like swatting at a fly and actually killing it. It was an emotional surprise, but this one of disappointment. The initiation of this contest furthers exacerbates the humiliation. The leaders, the great minds of Earth admit, for once, that they haven’t got a clue. Clueless and now humble before you. So, our great minds have accepted defeat and thus ask for help from the rest of Humanity. Maybe eighteen billion minds can figure it out? IT being the Code from Space, of course, as if you didn’t know!
GUIDELINES?
Guidelines for the contest are simple. Figure out what the alien message said and the governments of the world will literally give you anything you want. There are no restrictions. You never liked your mother-in-law? We know. We can help you with that or anything else that might be equally difficult. We need to know so much more about the Universe. We need to know what the aliens were saying. The world needs to know. As an aid to the world, attached are potentially relevant background data. Also attached are visual recordings of the phenomenon in as many different spectra as the scientist could think of at the time. Have at it Humanity.
ENTRY?
Use REPLY to this message to communicate your solution. Entry into the contest is simply your answer, no pre-enrollment necessary. Entries can be submitted in any format relevant. We don’t know what the best format is. So, why not? We don’t know the content of the message, how would we know the best format for your answer. An open format thus, that is, is open ended. Whatever it takes, will be accepted.
BACKGROUND?
You literally would have to have been born yesterday not to know this, but on September 11, 2073, as dusk commenced over the Western Hemisphere, IT appeared, as if the Earth had magically acquired a new moon. A moon that flashed colors! We all saw it! It flashed a pattern of colored shades for approximately two hours and then the pattern repeated. It repeated exactly as it did before. Not one error in shade or time duration, exactly, as if it was a loop recording. This exact pattern repetition continued for just over two days. And then it stopped. It didn’t fade out. Why should it? It hadn’t faded in. It wasn’t there and then it was. It was there and then it wasn’t. It hasn’t come back in five years. It repeated a total of twenty nine times. For the mathematically indisposed, twenty-nine is a prime number. You know, that it can only be divided by one and the number itself. A prime number! And it was no planet, plantlet, moon or big F- - King ship. It was an energy signal, only. An energy signal generating an image in the sky the size of the real moon. And it was clear that the energy signal wasn’t natural. It was artificial. The signal was a construct obviously, originating from a distant intelligent civilization. It was and is the only reasonable conclusion.
-
The Moon of First Contact?
-
Earth’s initial communication with a non-terrestrial intelligence?
-
Earth’s Faux Moon?
And the biggest of problems is that we still don’t know what it said or how to reply, or if we should reply, or evacuate the planet? Considering the position in the sky of the Faux Moon, this signal may not have been generated in our galaxy. If Earth doesn’t know what the message is, we don’t know what to do. We need to know. We all need to know. This is a global imperative. Get those eighteen billion minds in gear. Let the mental clutch out and hit the road. Step on the gas! Time maybe running out. We have no idea. The Contest starts TODAY! Like NOW! Get to it!
********
Jack chuckled. Jack read his laptop screen and chuckled. Jack was in a room. The room was small. Now, all Northern Hemisphere apartments were small, especially in this old Chicago neighborhood. Why should they be large? They started out small and with no rebuilding, how could they change? It was always a heat issues. Small was easier to heat; has always been easier to heat. Heat, like any other commodity, costs money. Frank, Jack, Ethel and Su-Ming were all artists. Artists never have had much money, but they did need heat. So they all lived together in this small one-room apartment to save money and accumulate sufficient heat. They also huddled together to generate metaphorical heat, constant mutual comfort to deal with constant mutual rejection. The creative hears No, way too often. It was inevitable. Living in Chicago was where all but one of them were born and thus also inevitable, but, unlike heat, was unimportant to them now. Actually, they all wanted to move down near the equator where it was warmer, but the USTA wouldn’t let them. Voluntary changes of address were a violation of USTA statutes. Because of the New Ice Age, population distribution was controlled by all world governments, control, in general, was especially important for the USTA. The huddled artists were actually happy that the USTA didn’t notice them, hadn’t involuntarily moved them to Antarctica. The USTA had claimed that re-frozen continent just for this type of population re-distribution. The New Ice Age had re-prioritized most governments’ agendas. It was supposed to be global warming but it really just flipped the climate switch for the entrance of the inevitable Ice Age. There were still seasons in the Northern Hemisphere, but they were all cold; alternately getting colder and then less cold. It was just always cold in Chicago, now. Frank, Jack, Ethel and Su-Ming were thus happy to be left alone in the regular Chicago cold.
When one of them started to complain about the inconveniences of their present life, another one of them would simply say, “But it could be colder.” And the complaint was stopped cold in its tracks. Such a cold complaint, that was stopped cold, they only had one ComNet connection; despite computers being everywhere under their feet, they were all modern artists, but with the limitation of having only one ComNet connection. It was that money issue again. The USTA didn’t care about this.
“Hard to have connections when you’re poor!” Su-Ming would joke. She had been born in the supposed “prosperous” China in which there were more poor people than ever. She was one of those many folks, so she always joked about being poor. It was like a bald man making jokes about baldness. It wasn’t funny.
So, it was Jack’s turn on the ComNet. He laughed as he read the government PR acting all coy and fawning humility. That was their latest ploy to win Hearts and Minds. It wasn’t winning anything but laughs with Jack. Jack knew they were being serious but it was all so amusing. Of course, this made them, the USTA, more dangerous. Authoritarians hated being laughed at, even if they started it.
Jack stopped laughing and called out. “Hey Frank, want to win anything you want in the entire world?”
Frank was lying naked on the top bunk. Frank had the cramped top most bunk because heat rises. It always had so far, so he was mostly in this naked state. The bunk was above eye level for the females, so Frank felt he had some privacy and, unfortunately for everyone else in the room, took it. Privacy really didn’t exist anymore, not when the USTA had its way. The USTA did, mostly. Frank knew he was lying to himself, but naked he still was. “Living the lie.” He rationalized a lot too. He scratched himself in a place that should have been done in much more privacy. “Sure, why the hell not?”
“A new season of the World’s Dumbest Person back on the ComNet?” Ethel laughed and kicked the bunk above her to emphasize her sarcasm. All the kick did was cause Frank to draw blood as he continued to scratch himself.
“Hey! That hurt!” Frank called out.
“Breathing hurts now! So what?” Ethel coughed and then giggled.
“No! The Faux Moon thingy. Remember that?” Jack wished the water was running so he could use the bathroom. Ethel had already done their one afternoon flush. “A woman thing.” She had pleaded. The water didn’t come back on for another forty-five minutes. No one understood why Chicago had plenty of electricity but very little water. No one every tried to explain either. “You said you knew something about it?”
“I’m a light and color artist. Why wouldn’t I know something about it? Those USTA fools babbling about it again? I already told them what it was. They didn’t want to listen then. They never want to listen to anyone but themselves. Fuck ‘em!” Frank licked the end of his finger and rubbed at the bloody scratch. Blood never tasted metallic to Frank, contrary to what most fiction writers continually reported. “Well, it was fiction, a lie by definition.” Frank said to himself. “They don’t know shit!” He said aloud.
“Well, they finally admitted it. Since you already know the answer, wanna do this contest?” Jack hoped he could last at least forty minutes. “I’ll down load this shit for you if you do.” Then Jack mumbled to himself. “Shouldn’t have said shit.” He grimaced.
“Yeah. Sure. Get him doing something.” Ethel kicked at the bunk again for irony’s sake. “Other than nude farting, which is not an art form despite what you say?”
“Yeah, whatever.” Frank blurted out. “Ethel, stop kicking me!”
“Here goes then.” Jack hit Enter and jumped up. Maybe he could make it down the stairs in time to do it in the snow bank. “Solid!” Jack agreed with himself and ran out the door without his coat. It was still seven flights down. Seven was a prime number but irrelevant here too.
###
ATTACHED APPENDIXES and other relevant information.
__________________________
SEPTEMBER 13, 2073
Cancel hiatus: Enable Web Server: Re-initialization Protocols:
SYSTEM ERROR: Cover Capacity: SYS Error recovery:
Blogging Protocol re-enabled. ENABLING SYSTEM ON:
TEXT ONLY VIDEO / AUDIO NOT AVAILABLE
---------------------------------
MadAbotYU: We’re back up finally! What the hell was that?!!!!!
SamYKY: The government shut us down. It wasn’t the phenomenon. I am certain of that. Those Authoritarian maniacs love their control.
EVenCalm: Who cares about that? What the hell was that?
FaintHope: A vanishing moon? A magic Moon? A transportable planetlet?
URKnown: No. It wasn’t a solid object. Space surveillance radar detected no mass whatsoever.
EL-ONE: But what was it if it had no mass? Ghost aliens? A spectral invasion. Ghosts from space?
Jo-Kan238: But nothing happened, if the computers were blocked by the government. I’ve heard nothing. Not death. No destruction. Nothing? Is that true?
URKnown: Absolutely, there has been no disruption of the ComNets or interruption in the power grids. Some wireless static but less than solar flare incidents. The blogs were shut down to prevent extreme speculation and panic.
WinedaPoh: Nothing to fear except ourselves then. Was it a benevolent invasion?
TadTab577: What invasion?
URKnown: No invasion. No death. No damage. No worries. No pitter patter of little alien feet. Nothing down here as always.
WinkieBlinkie: But what was it?
URKnown: Maybe a message only.
Dadylnglgs: But what was the message then?
URKnown: Good question. I don’t know.
******
Naked Frank projected the downloads on the ceiling directly above him on the bunk. His Faux privacy to study the Faux Moon info. “Jerk offs. Bunch of children! Frightened into stupidity; a negative survival trait.” His fart made Ethel kick upward.
###
USTA Government PRESS RELEASE – September 15, 2073. Capitol Harbor, Caribbean Union.
THERE IS NOTHING TO FEAR, REALLY! IT WAS DEATH BY NATURAL CAUSES.
The President of the United States of The Americas, Rodrigo Santiago, has died of a massive coronary thrombosis. It was no assassination. There was no assassination attempt. There was no attack on the offices of the USTA at all! This Administration will continue its policy of plain speaking. President Santiago’s death was a natural event admittedly, brought about by the very unnatural events of four days ago. It was shock and concern from the compassionate person who was our Chief Executive in response to the event, that unusual phenomenon which has confused and frightened the entire world. Our beloved President died from excessive compassion and concern for the citizens of the USTA who he adored.
Vice President Bianca Lopes was sworn in as President, immediately. President Lopes stated firmly that, “The world remains as it was on the morning of September 11, 2073. The astral phenomenon was mind numbing but harmless by all indications. It is an incident of the past and should be treated as such, the PAST. Government scientists from around the world are working 24 / 7 to analyze the event. They will keep the world informed about their findings. I have ordered, ah, requested it. When they have any solid findings all of the USTA will know about it. Now, we citizens of the Earth should do exactly what we did before. Live our happy or not so happy lives. Things should go on as usual.”
*******
“The usual?” Frank burped. No kick. Burps didn’t smell, thus not kick generating. “Strangling the people is what Brasilia usually does. Smother and strangle. Lopes does the mother smother best. If they were doing the usual I couldn’t breath.”
“You keep farting and I’ll stop breathing too.” Ethel coughed and giggled from below. No kick though.
###
PRESS RELEASE – September 17, 2073. You know where we are.
THE OFFICIAL OPPOSITION.
You know where we stand, literally and figuratively. President Lopes states that the most astounding event of humanity was simply an unusual event. An event we should all forget it and move on! The whole foundation of humanity has been readjusted. Earth is not the only planet with intelligent life! We are not alone! Actually, we never were! This September 11th didn’t just change a military hanta. It didn’t just kill and maim thousands of people. No one was touched, but the world is different, NOW! Someone IS out there! Someone that can do things that we don’t even understand, let alone, do. Move on as if it didn’t happen? Waddled through life fat, dumb and happy? How is that possible? MS Lopes please explain how that is possible?
****
“The brain dead leading the lobotomized.” Frank chuckled. “A zombie daisy chain. An undead circle jerk. Fools being foolish. Fools cubed.”
###
SEPTEMBER 22, 2073 – Astro-physics Conference minutes DRAFT.
-------
“How would you focus light so precisely over such a distance?”
“Self collimating photons?”
“What are those?”
“I don’t know. It was just a shot in the dark.”
“No puns please.” Laughter.
“We don’t even know the source of the transmission. If it was transmitted?”
“Well, it was off the galactic plane. All that is out that direction is some other galaxy. Galaxies, maybe?”
“Hundreds of thousands, millions of light years away. Christ!”
“No religious comments please.”
“What? I didn’t. Oh hell. Is hell okay?”
“Hell, hell could be the source.”
“Please. Please, we need to keep to the points.”
“Quantum teleportation seems the only possibility. It’s the only theory that seems to explain faster than light events.”
“We don’t know that Einstein has been violated.”
Laughter.
“He wouldn’t mind as long as it was satisfying.”
“How do you focus and transmit a quantum teleportation beam?”
“I have no idea.”
“All of this is way over our heads.”
“That’s where it was. Way over our heads.”
Laughter
“A colored disk, about the size of the moon that relayed a repeating pattern of shades.”
“It was more of a globe or elongated sphere.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“We are here to shot in to the dark.”
“It’s really dark in here for now.”
“That’s right.”
“We need to speculate into the light.”
“Fool drool, you mean?”
Laughter.
******
“Fool drool?” Frank was getting cold. The heat had risen too high. “Physicists! Scientists? They know too much to understand anything. Jez!”
###
SEPTEMBER 27, 2073 - Encrypted USTA De-crypt ion Division Meeting Minutes.
----------
“This isn’t a Sagan moment. No underlying transmissions or carrier waves that we can determine.”
“No, ‘I Love Lucy’ episode being sent back to us with a complaint about it not being funny?”
“Nope! Nothing consistent. The repeated pattern of colors repeats, exactly. No variation over the twenty-nine repetitions.”
“How would you de-crypt a language without any knowledge of that language?”
“We don’t even know if it is a spoken language.”
“Some squid use color change on their bodies to communicate with each other.”
“Yeah, and no one knows how to talk a squid, do they?”
“I don’t know. There was a Marine Biologist that said she had some understanding of their messaging system.”
“Let’s get her in here.”
“I think she’s dead.”
“A séance is out of the question, ah?”
“Funny? You are attempting funny?”
“No one here good at that.”
“Obviously!”
“She write a book?”
“Not since she died.”
“I hope not.”
“It’s a Faux Moon, not a Ghost Moon. Stop with the spectral references.”
“Spectrum only, no specters.”
“Could we focus?”
“Bof’f us?”
“What?”
“I’ll chase her, well her work, down.”
“Let’s keep at it. President Lopes wants a regular update.”
“Ibid, would be appropriate.”
“Nope, she’s not good with glib or sarcastic.”
“Glib can get you killed with the USTA, in general.”
“World, in general, has lost its sense of humor.”
“Just lost its sense.”
“We need to get back to work.”
“Focus!”
“Bof’f us?”
“Stop it.”
*****
“That’s’ too old of a racist joke to be funny.” Frank rubbed himself in his faux privacy. Scratching was too dangerous. “Bunch of silly assed jerks. It’s so obvious. How can I make such dimwits understand?”
###
PRESS RELEASE well sort of? From: Up Your’s Daily Weekly.
SEPTEMBER 11, 2074 – Bad-assed, physics violating Aliens.
Nobel Laureate Physicists, Charles Blake-Hernandez, Ph.D. made a quotable. “Quantum Teleportation is the only technology that we know of that could explain the phenomenon of the Faux Moon, as people are inaccurately calling it. Q-teleportation is the only proposed theory capable of violating the speed of light limitation in the Einstein Universe. Still, now that we know Quantum Teleportation seems to exist, having been both harnessed and manipulated to make the Faux Moon, humanity will eventually determine how to utilize these technologies. How to focus it on a specific point, I have no clue at all.”
This blogger asked Dr. Blake-Hernandez. “Is this an insult to Einstein?”
Another quotable reply, “What kind of bullshit question is that? I hate bloggers.”
And we hate you too, you pompous academic ass! Ha! Ha! Ha! Aliens have kicked your egg-headed fat ass in the physics derby of understanding the Universe. I love a rebellious technology breaking the Einstein speed limit. Virtual violation of Einstein. I love it. I love it. Humanity is a Granny driver to our Faux Moon Drifters. Our aliens are true speed demons.”
******
“I love the Up Yours Daily Weekly.” Frank
scratched and then rubbed. “Pompous ass got what he deserved. No use reading
this government vomit. Nothing to learn in this crap-fest. Need to get some
cash. Need to build a device. Show! Not tell! That’s what artists do!”
Frank looked over the edge of his bunk, down at Ethel. She snored quietly, if
that was possible? “Hey! Ethel! Hey! Wake up!”
“Shit!” Ethel cried out. Ethel always cursed when she woke up.
Ethel said it was because she hated transitions. In her theory of art,
different states of consciousness should be startling.
Frank giggled. He knew her waking oaths were not philosophy, just that she wanted to sleep and sleep. All she did was sleep. Let her have her fantasies. “Living the lie!” Frank giggled. “I need some cash for the Contest. You still hooking?” He said with what he thought was a sympathetic smile.
She kicked him upward so hard that he banged the back of his head against the ceiling. “All limitations hurt an artist. The ceiling really hurt Frank. Thus Frank was either an artist or the ceiling was a very affective limitation.” Frank mumbles rubbing the back of his head. He laughed nodding as he agreed with his own silly syllogism. “Life hurts too much not to laugh at.” That was Frank’s Dad’s motto. Frank never liked his Dad. “Luckily, we have more electricity than water. Just need some LED banks and some lighting wallpaper. Oh, and a holographic projector or two. Need to rebuild my Dirge Surge with a slight modification or two. Too bad I blew up the other one. But art has to have some integrity. Art is sacrifice.”
###
From: FRANKLIN FINKLESTEIN, M.F.A. and some other stuff.
Decoding the Spacecode Entry Format: An invitation to an Art Show.
Come be Enlightened.
Meet at the South Wacker Gallery
on South Wacker, Chicago, IL.
North American Union, USTA.
I’ll be there all week.
Come as you are!
If you are an are?
\\\\
AUTOMATED REPLY
FROM: DecodeSpacecode@USTA.gov
SUBJECT: Contest Guidelines Guidelines – Automated Response.
Dear Mr. FrankTheNose,
This Contest is a legitimate endeavor. All entrants are to consider their entries as serious. E-mail SPAM, as defined as unsolicited advertisements, are not serious. They only inhibit and interfere with proper Government function. Please restrict this e-mail address for LEGITIMATE Contest Entry.
\\\\
REPLY
FROM: FrankTheNose@lightArt.org
SUBJECT: Open Format entry?
Dear Mr. / MS Dopy Gov. Off.
The attached invitation IS my entry to the Contest. Get someone off their fat bureaucratic ass. Let them get some exercise for a change. Have them come up here and see My Entry. I know am I right. I am also Serious. SPAM has all kinds of definitions. Unsolicited and stupid Automatic Reply is also another definition, I am certain. The Contest Guidelines were reported to be OPEN in FORMAT. OPEN does not mean RESTRICTED. Come see my solution. It is in the three dimensional REAL world, so I can’t attach it as a file. Come. Come. Come! See. See. See! I’ve said it thrice so it must be true!
Frank The Nose
Knows his nose!!!
Raspberries!
\\\
FROM: WoodenJack@HardArt.org
SUBJECT: WHY INVOLVE ME?
Frank,
You are an ass not a nose. You are an ASS Whole! Why do you have to piss off everyone? And then get my involved in your piss-offing by a cc:ing. At least you could have bc:ed it.
Jack
Wood if I could.
\\\\
REPLY
From: FrankTheNose@lightArt.org
SUBJECT: Why not involve you?
Jack,
I’m sitting over here in my bunk. Is this your Paper Trail Denial? I just wanted you to know why I had died if the USTA assassinates me.
\\\
REPLY
FROM: WoodenJack@HardArt.org
SUBJECT: YEAH! Thanks a whole lot!
Frank,
I know you’re over there and yes this is my Paper Trail Denial. I’ll put it in capital letters. I DENY ALL INVOLVEMENT IN WHATEVER FRANK DOES OR SAYS; REAL OR VIRTUAL.
Jack at a Lack.
*****
The USTA official that eventually showed up at the Wacker Gallery looked more like a body guard than a Contest Official. His name was Edgardo Pod. Frank read it right off the official government ID that Mr. Pod had shoved into Frank’s face without saying one word of introduction or even a Hello.
“So? Are you here to kill me?” Frank said it lightly but that wasn’t the way Frank felt. It was a serious question.
“I haven’t decided yet.” Was Mr. Pod’s serious reply. Sarcasm and irony, humor in any fashion, was not an attribute of the USTA.
Frank blinked rapidly. The USTA was always blunt and to the point, especially if it hurt. “At least, you’re honest. Well, let’s get to it.”
“Make it quick. Quicker than you intended.” Mr. Pod didn’t blink at a normal rate. Mr. Pod blinked at a very slow rate. His heartbeat rate was slower than normal, too.
“The better to see you with.” Frank blurted out.
“What?” Mr. Pod stated flatly.
“Well, this is visual, the presentation.” Frank swallowed, attempting to recover his composure. Jack was right, he should be more careful with what he said. “Your eyes. Good eyes you have?”
“Quicker, I said. Quicker.” Mr. Pod snapped. His rate of speech wasn’t slow.
Frank nodded and clicked on the equipment beside him. Immediately, in the center of the empty studio, a three dimensional colored sphere appeared.
“A representation of the Faux Moon? Is that all?” Mr. Pod cleared his throat threateningly.
“Not like this. I have included all EM frequencies except for the harmful hard radiation.”
“So what?” Mr. Pod shrugged threateningly. “Looks the same to me.”
“Good point! But it’s not to be seen from the outside, but the inside.” Frank walked over to the holographic color flashing sphere and stuck his head into it. “It’s different in here. It’s an all encompassing color environment.” Frank stepped to the side to move his head out of the Faux faux moon. “See. No harm at all.”
“You want me to stick my head into that.” Mr. Pod pointed at the two appropriate spheres.
“Yes, if you could.” Frank tried to shrug with emotion and intent but failed. “Don’t be scared. I just showed you it was harmless.”
“You could never scare me.” Mr. Pod walked over to the sphere without hesitation.
“Yeah.” Frank side stepped over to the Faux faux moon controls. “I’ll need to adjust the size of the sphere to fit your head, ah, well, actually just a fine tuning is all.”
Mr. Pod’s look would have killed if it could, but still he put his head into the color flashing sphere. “So, what do I do?”
“Just keep your eyes open and tell me what you feel.” Frank swallowed with a single emotion, fear.
Mr. Pod frowned. “Sad.”
“Sad is good.” Frank nodded looking at the replay timer. “And now.”
“Resignation.” Mr. Pod’s frown intensified. “Pleased, as if I am remembering something happy? What the?”
“Keep at it for just a little more.” Frank smiled to himself. This worked better than he thought it would. “Now what?”
“Grateful and satisfied.” Mr. Pod glanced over at Frank. “How are you? Why are you doing this?” Mr. Pod kept his head in the Faux faux moon.
“Part of my art form, but the content, the, ah, message, is from the Alien artist.” Frank waved his hands in the air.
“Very happy?” Mr. Pod said. “But no one on Earth felt anything like this. I didn’t. Fear and confusion, but not like this. I stared at the original Faux Moon for hours. Everyone on Earth did.”
“Not me. It was old stuff to me.” Frank shrugged. “But as you just saw, you have to experience it from the inside. The Faux Moon was misaligned. It should have encompassed a quadrant of the Earth, so everyone could experience its interior as the planet rotated.”
“Superior alien technology and they missed the mark by a few thousand miles?” Mr. Pod remained in the Faux faux moon. “Grief.”
“Hey, with millions of light years in between, a few thousand miles is like a billionth of a percent off.” Frank frowned. “He hit the target just not the exact center of the bull’s eye. Impressive even if it’s no cigar. That impresses me, at least.”
“Profound grief. Loss.” Mr. Pod stepped out of the Faux faux moon’s focus. There were tears in his eyes. “What is this?”
“You mean the message? I think it’s a funeral dirge. A universe-wide broadcast memorial to the Artists loved one or loved ones.” Frank smiled at his equipment. It had worked so well.
“No message content?’ Mr. Pod wiped his eyes as inconspicuously as possible for a man his size.
“Well, art has a message. Music has content, emotional content. It elicits emotions. Grief and loss is a profound message.”
“Nothing technical? Nothing diplomatic?” Mr. Pod looked at the continuing Faux faux moon perplexed.
Frank shook his head. “Nope, just the dirge, the visual lament, a memorial to the Universe.”
“Why do you say the Universe? Wasn’t it directed toward the Earth?” Mr. Pod stepped back into the colored sphere. He smiled.
“Artists seldom make a piece for only one person. Art is meant for all people living and to be living. Art has the future of humanity in mind as well as the present.” Frank patted his equipment. He felt satisfaction from it. It pleased him so. “I think it was an automated messaging system directed to seek out industrial civilization that would appreciate the Artistic Dirge. It takes a sophisticated civilization to value the value of art.”
“Automated messaging?” Mr. Pod stepped out of the colored sphere. “Automated messaging? SPAM from space?” Mr. Pod’s anger and menace reappeared.
Frank laughed out into the studio. “Yeah, I guess? Hadn’t thought of that.” Frank laughed harder. “I guess SPAM is in the eye of the beholder.”
Mr. Pod actually stomped his large foot. The studio walls rattled. “That’s just ridiculous!”
“So’s most of modern physics, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.” Frank tried to control his laughter but couldn’t. “Space spam. Good one, Mr. Pod.”
Mr. Pod reached for the mobile phone on his belt and then hesitated. “The President’s not going to like this.”
“Supporting the arts should be important to a Brazilian.” Frank stopped laughing. The USTA wasn’t funny at anytime.
“But how can she spin this?” Mr. Pod pulled out his mobile but didn’t click it on.
“Non-invasion message. Non-threatening message. How’s that?” Frank’s subconscious had smacked him into being serious. “These, well, this alien’s mind has emotions. Emotions so much like our’s that we can understand them. They probably see the same way we do. See the same EM spectral range. Feel the same ways. That’s a plus isn’t it? Not being too alien? Aliens like us?”
“Maybe?” Mr. Pod’s voice got very thick and resonant. “Maybe good?”
Frank’s fear surfaced and was expressed with the true and immediate question. “So, you’re not going to kill me?”
Mr. Pod clicked on his phone. “Not yet.”
Frank swallowed. “That’s good. That’s definitely good. Living for the next few minutes is good.”
Mr. Pod dialed his mobile and then grunted, “Contest is over.” He clicked it shut without waiting for a response. Mr. Pod pointed at the continuing Faux faux moon. “May I?”
“Sure, be my guest.” Frank waved his arms more wildly than he wanted. Fear induced loss of control. “It has the full two hours. It’s very enlightening emotionally. It’s all yours.”
“Good.” Another tear appeared in Mr. Pod’s eye as the colors played across his hard features. He then smiled.
“Art is nothing if not full of contrasts.” Frank’s body quivered. Frank had never felt such fear after winning a competition before. Anxiety yes, but never fear. The what-ever- you-desire prize for Frank was just to continue to live. “I’m not ready for my own space Dirge, yet. I don’t know how to transmit it.” Frank said to himself.
Mr. Pod’s smile broadened but tears did flow as the colors flashed.
THE END
Copyright 2008
&&&&&&&&&&&
Just to be perfectly clear!
All Rights to this piece reside with the Author