Page 91 - An Evening with Maxwell's Daemons

The Mother Ship is Real!

“Those are nice binary alternatives, reflecting the history of
technological advances—or retardations,” interjected Brad
Razeberry. “But the Fates—in the form of Murphy’s Law—often
throw a monkey wrench into tidy schemas. I speak here of
accidents, or unconsidered contingencies. Suppose someone
decides to jam the signals from the mother ship just to see what will
happen, or does it while performing some other experiment in radio
telemetry? Or, against the odds, knocks out the mother ship with a
rocket simply because it did not show up on radar? Anyway, I like
Cyril’s idea of a lone still voice crying out in the wilderness to be
heard.”
“No.” Rutger Schlager could not contain himself; only Fred
Feghootsky, as chairperson had the power to rein him in, and Fred
wanted every shred of advice he could get. “You’re all making the
fatal error of underestimating the enemy. The cat is a hunting,
fighting, killing machine, keen of sense and sharp of fang and claw.
They have become symbols, if that’s the right word, for various
aspects of female desirability, and nothing’s cuter than a fluffy little
kitten, right? And vessels of all types—ships, planes, cars—are
given female pronouns. That is why this story cannot end well—we
are going to screw up if we meddle in what we don’t understand. If
that monitor was placed up there to protect apex predators, why do
you think it would not have defensive capabilities on the same
scale? I say a more reasonable story would be the Pentagon brass or
their foreign counterparts, having gotten the proof of an alien
presence, trying to neutralize it—just as with any UFO. Won’t make
radio contact? Can’t be friendly, so blast it out of the sky! That
attack may well fail owing to the ineffectiveness of our weaponry,
but the mother ship might also have onboard defensive capabilities
that we humans regret ever triggering—as well as signaling every cat
on Earth, large and small, to turn on the nearest human and tear it
to ribbons. Good job, Fred: go for it!”
The last word was muttered simultaneously sotto voce by
Felicity Tinderstack and Hydrargyrum Diggers: “Sexist!”

90