The Last Contact - Part #3/4
Observe the protocol!
This is episode 3 of the 4-part dystopian sci-fi(ey) serial.
» Backstory and a curious behind-the-scene
» New to the story? Start with Part #1
PREVIOUSLY:
Council-appointed committee of scholars, acting on a directive from high-up, reluctantly pull Mūrkha — a lowly professor at the local university, a despised expert ancientologist — to give him precise instructions on how he should conduct the survey of the mysterious sky object. On the off-chance that the artifact contains alien life, Mūrkha is supposed to follow a rigorous appearance and behavior protocol.
PSSSST:
Yes, I just pssssted at you. There’s a tiny little number puzzle in this chapter. I’ll draw a personalized medal to whoever finds and solves it in comments first.
#3: The Experiment
A short carriage ride takes Mūrkha and his disgusted entourage of notable scholars well outside of the city, spilling them a healthy distance away from a cabin-sized metallic object.
The battered cylindrical body sits on three thin legs, its underside adorned with numerous cones, resembling upturned longish baskets. The slightly domed top is littered with shiny, spiky appendages, pointing upwards. The object itself does not seem to be painted, which, if The Manual’s Section 244 is to be believed, is an indicator of a low-class owner, not being able to afford a tint application.
At least I’m not going to need to dawdle with the damn forms for a change of clothes, thinks Mūrkha to himself.
Trying to ignore itchy spots where the rubbery, mummy-like protective wrappings touch his skin, he takes three steps towards the cylinder, then stops, trying to remember the exact number of seconds the Protocol requires him to wait, before proceeding further.
Centuries ago, some scholar in the ivory tower up the hill probably received a medal for their illuminating work on the best way to approach a potential adversary in the way that would signal good intent and project strength at the same time. Three steps, wait two seconds. Repeat until half-way through, then switch to a 2-step / 3-second pattern. Repeat until half of the remaining distance is covered. Then… you get the drill.
It takes a good part of an hour for Mūrkha to reach the object, placing him in front of a rectangular door-like depression on the cylinder’s side. Instead of a handle or some kind of lever, it has an embossed plaque with square knobs, arranged in a 3x3 grid.
Not entirely sure what to do next, Mūrkha glances back at the members of the committee, noting smirks on their faces.
“You mentioned something about this thing broadcasting a message.” He yells to be heard over the distance. “I can’t hear anything.”
“Wait for it.” Comes back a shouted reply.
As he turns back to face the doorway, a loud, disembodied voice startles him. Sounding gibberish at first, it slowly starts to make sense. The sounds blend into words, then to sentences, revealing a meaning to the flabbergasted professor’s mind. Years spent in dusty basements of the archives, approximating how the language should sound like, bears fruit as Mūrkha recognizes ancient English.
“This is an automated message. Press the numbers 43556 32784 on the keypad to access the pod.”
The square knobs light up, displaying symbols, instantly recognizable as Arabic numbers to the seasoned ancientologist’s brain.
Past the initial shock, he steals a glance at the posse, left behind by the carriage. The distinguished men pay him no attention, laughing at each other’s jokes.
Mūrkha goes closer to the “pod”, then tentatively presses the knob with a symbol “4” on it, which emits a satisfying beep. The man freezes, expecting either a lighting strike or a slew of concerned shouts from the posse, both failing to materialize, the only noise a jumble of undiscernible chatter brought in by the wind.
Emboldened by the lack of consequences, he presses “3”, then “5” two times, proceeding to other numbers, shortening time between each subsequent press as if in a hurry. Professor hesitates before the last “4”, but eventually sights and punches the knob decidedly.
The repeating message cuts out mid-word, as a chime sounds and the door hisses open, instantly strangling the excited conversation back at the scholar camp.
Once again, Mūrkha steals a glance backwards only to be met by a view of a set of distinguished mouths frozen uselessly open. He waits a few seconds, and having received no further verbal instructions steps through the gaping opening.
As if by magic, the circular interior, previously pitch-black, is flooded with light, fed from tiny suns attached to the ceiling. Entranced, Mūrkha fails to notice the door sliding shut behind him.
In the center of the small room, there’s a weird but comfortably looking settee, facing a square of a large mirror, reflecting a caricature of a man wrapped in sheets. It takes a moment for Mūrkha to realize he is looking at his own reflection.
“Please take a seat and prepare for the take off.” Announces the same voice politely. “Launching in 60 seconds.”
As on cue, the startled face of a man in the mirror is replaced with blue light and a fat number “60” in white taking up half of its surface, with the rest seemingly opening a window to the view outside.
On it, the scholars, now having regained their senses, are running excitedly towards the pod, their shouts drowned out by an airtight walls of the structure.
The number on the blue background changes to “59”. Then to “58”... “57”... “56”... “55”...
“Please take a seat and prepare for the take off.” Repeats the invisible speaker. “Launching in 50 seconds.”
Mūrkha approaches the settee and plops into it awkwardly. It doesn’t feel right, though. The timer on the mirror has reached “20” by the time he relaxes himself into a semi-laid back position, which, at last, feels comfortable.
“Launching in 10 seconds. Brace for the lift off.”
The pod begins to vibrate, barely noticeably at first, increasing in intensity, and by the time the number “0” comes up, shaking violently.
The small window shows the scholars engulfed in a cloud of smoke before being disintegrated by hellish columns of fire.
Terrified by the view of the inferno, being squeezed into the chair by immense invisible force, Mūrkha screams before being rescued by a blissful loss of consciousness.
The final part blasts off on 05/07/2026. Hit the subscribe button, or get left behind.