Ciao, SETI! Part 3/8

Two can play at that conspiracy game theory

For the previous episode, click there.

That’s the episode in which Phoebe hatched her cunning little plan.

In this episode, we discover a little more about what she has in mind, then there’s a funny courtroom flashback, then our Katy gets an unofficial visitor.

For my little intro note (don’t worry, it’s not long) I just wanted to remind my lovely readers that I intended to have this story finished before the fateful 16 November 2024, hence I am doing this extra episode this week. Episode 4 will drop next week. Probably the Thursday, as Katrina will not take kindly to being barged aside for her parallel world namesake (so her next instalment will likely be the Tuesday).

Also, I wanted to a Classified-K Circe thing this weekend. That’s virtually ready.

You’ll find out a lot more about this new character Alex next episode. I chose that name intentionally to make people think about Krycek out of X-Files (for future reference, though, in later Katy stories his name gets changed to Nathan, and he becomes American - if you’ve read Katy’s McGuffin you’ll have met him already). I am minded to do a proper post about what I call ‘The Group’ in the near future (it’s real, trust me on that one). There’s a lot of lovely background stuff to this story which isn’t spoken explicitly, but will come out in a fair few future posts here in this delightful new Paschat section.

Anyway - enough blurb from me. I shall now hand you over to the Great Image Generator.

---

“Of course under normal, sane circumstances we wouldn’t have to worry about RFI,” Phoebe complained. “This location was chosen for an observatory precisely to avoid RFI.”

“So what’s the problem, then?” Kylie asked, genuinely interested.

“Three words,” Bryn explained, “Elon bloody Musk. The Douglas Jardine of radio astronomy.”

“That’s nine words.”

“Whatever. Point is, he’s pretty much created a kind of electromagnetic shield around the planet with his bloody 6G network. Or Skynet, as I likes to call it.”

“It may as well be,” agreed Phoebe, “hell knows what kind of frequencies he’s bombarding us with. It’s a wonder any signals get through at all. And not just from ETI. By the time 7G arrives there won’t be any radio astronomy anymore.”

“Yep, we are the last of a dying breed.”

Bryn gulped the end of one tinny and cracked open another. Kylie looked sad.

Then she said, “Is there a dunny in this place?”

Bryn pointed. “Through that door, last on the left.”

He watched her leave, then when he was sure she was out of earshot, turned to Phoebe and asked, “You don’t mind I brought her along?”

“Absolutely not. In fact I was hoping you would,”

He threw her a confused look. “Oh?”

She turned around in her chair and leaned towards him, lowering her voice a little. “Think about it this way. After she gets back home it’ll only take a day before the whole town’s aware of this signal. And that means we get the credit, not the Professor, and more importantly they’ll have no chance of covering it up.”

“Why would they cover it up?”

“Because a confirmed signal from ETI, especially from one of our nearest neighbour systems, would change everything. The entire world would start self-examining. What must the aliens think of us, they’ll say. Corporations raping our homeworld every day, permanent international conflict and xenophobia. You’ve seen what’s going on in Britain - the entire world’s descending into fascism. Then there’s America, the country I’m ashamed to be from, threatening anyone who doesn’t agree with them with nuclear weapons and the CIA. And you must’ve noticed how much they’ve ramped up the propaganda against Russia and China since Trump won his second term? If it’s not stopped, they will start WW3 by the end of the year.”

Bryn was suddenly a little more sober. “I see what you mean. And since Morrison’s AUKUS deal we’ve got nuclear subs in our own waters, which makes Oz a target too. So maybe all this warmongerin’ explains the ayleens’ timin’, eh?”

“Precisely. So it’s in the bad guys’ interests to prevent a signal from becoming public knowledge at all costs, right? The 99 percent would suddenly see them for what they are, and rise up against them. They wouldn’t survive.”

Bryn looked thoughtful. “I know you believe that’s what happened with that BLC-1 signal, right?”

She nodded. “I have my suspicions. They never located the source of the supposed RFI, did they?”

“Hmm. So SETI can’t be trusted, is what you’re sayin’?”

“Possibly. But these people are serious and ruthless. Besides, people in SETI like the Professor can easily be bribed or threatened. And there’s no point going to the media, since the corporations control them.”

“Same for social media too, eh?”

“Yep.”

“Then we should make a copy of this data before anyone else finds out.”

Phoebe just grinned.

“Oh, right,” Bryn smiled back, “you already did that.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“You, darlin’, are not just a pretty face.”

“Pity I’m not straight, is what you really wanted to say, methinks?”

“That too.”

“So then, we don’t tell your friend there not to tell anyone, then when the local press come knocking, we slip them a copy of the data. The bad guys can’t very well kill everyone in Parkes now, can they?”

“12,000 people? Not likely.”

“Always remember, the thing they fear the most, is exposure.”

---

“And who’s they, Miss Major?”

“You know, your dystopian social leaders. In this country’s case, the so-called British Establishment.”

“And presumably this includes the current government?”

“Obviously.”

“And you believe they have some kind of nefarious, conspiratorial, totalitarian agenda?”

“A totalitarian new world order, yes. I’ve said so many times.”

The prosecution barrister glanced over at the jury, raised his eyebrows, and smirked. Clearly he was hoping to empathically draw them in to his view of things.

“A totalitarian new world order,” he repeated, not even trying to disguise the perfectly weighted hint of sarcasm in his tone. “I presume you think they’re secret alien lizards too, I’ll wager?”

“And I presume you’ve been practising that line in the mirror, eh?”

That drew a chuckle from the jury. Mister Prosecution wasn’t happy about that. He decided to put on a slight angry tone, in the manner of a public school headmaster.

“Well, do you believe that, Miss Major?”

“No. My species wouldn’t allow that kind of thing to progress that far. Besides, we can travel in time so we’d simply nip it in the bud before it got going.”

“Time travel?”

“That’s what I said.”

He laughed. “So then, Miss Major,” he turned with another smirk to the jury, “perhaps you could tell us what we’re all dying to know – who’s going to win the Derby?”

That won him back the jury. They were enjoying this, clearly.

“I’ve no idea,” Katy answered, “I don’t follow the horses.”

One thing the jury had made their minds up on, however, was that Katy’s demeanour did not match with that of a lunatic. She’d spent the entire trial a picture of calm and rationality. She didn’t fall into any of the prosecution’s entrapments, just leant back nonchalantly and decided to enjoy the experience. She was perfectly well aware of the inevitability of the verdict. Justice no longer existed for the common people, as far as she was concerned. The government had seen to that with their latest manifesto and, in her view, another rigged election.

Not to be thwarted, he pressed the point. “Lottery numbers?”

She shook her head. “Uh huh.”

“Not much use then, is it, this time travel of yours?”

The jury loved that one.

“Interesting you’d only use it for material gain. Says a lot about you personally.”

He reverted to serious anger, raised his voice sharply. “You say this government is involved in a fascist conspiracy against the people, Miss Major?”

“Yes.”

“And what should the people do about that, in your view?”

“Rise up and physically remove them from power. Transport them to an island somewhere having rigged up the place with hidden cameras and microphones, stream the whole thing to the Internet so the people can watch them go all Lord of the Flies on each other.”

The jury chuckled. At least half of them thought to themselves how they’d definitely watch that. Reality TV at its finest.

“Insurrection, then?”

“If that’s what you want to call it, yes. Given their total control over elections, it’s clearly the only solution.”

“So I’ll ask you to repeat that to the court just so we can be unmistakeably sure. You are exhorting the people of this country to revolution?”

Katy hesitated only for effect. She knew perfectly well what the legal consequences would be. But maybe she, too, wanted it all to be on the record.

She smiled, but not without a little sadness and regret. “Yes,” she said, “it’s the only way.”

---

Naturally, the court dismissed any notion of some kind of insanity defence. Katy herself had instructed her defence team not to even think about playing that card. She even insisted on submitting herself to a psychological assessment and presenting the report to the court, just to emphasise her total lack of any recognisable disorder. She wanted them to know she was rational. Likewise, she instructed her barrister to ask all about her beliefs, specifically so that, too, would all be on the record.

And so, precisely one year before the signal came, she was duly transported to Holloway Women’s Prison in London to commence her sentence.

The following week she had a visitor.

Her name was called out in the communal area, handcuffs fixed and she was led through a few security doors into one of the private interview rooms. Two chairs either side of a bare metal table, all bolted to the floor, and nothing else in the room. Her restraints were hooked under an eye on her side of the table, and she was made to wait. They were clearly nervous about her, for some reason, and since she wanted to avoid unnecessary trouble or aggravation, she went silently along with the whole thing without worrying about appearing submissive or subjugated. That kind of thing was always only ever in the eye of the beholder, anyway. Not long after she discovered they treated everyone convicted of sedition that way.

She didn’t have to wait long. Her visitor was a young man in a sharp suit, well-groomed and serious. She studied him as he entered then perched himself opposite. Only then, once as comfortable as he could get in those chairs, did he open his mouth to speak.

But she got her word in first. “You look like one of the them,” she observed, sternly.

He threw her a half-smile. “Is that telepathy or just an educated guess?”

She returned with a half-laugh. “Bit of both, I suppose. It’s in and around the eyes. Micro-expressions. That kind of thing.”

“Then can you guess why I’m here?”

“It’s either to threaten me, or to negotiate.”

“That might depend on you.”

“Hmm. Fair enough. Perhaps you’d like to introduce yourself?”

“I work for the intelligence services. MI5, that is.”

“Which section?”

“That I can’t tell you, I’m afraid.”

“Also fair enough. So what can I do for you, Mister -?”

“Alex. As good a name as any.”

“Well, Alex. Your visit doesn’t surprise me. I’m aware that the so-called deep state takes the Visitor phenomenon seriously.”

“Starseeds, you mean?”

She nodded. “I prefer ‘Visitors’. Starseeds sounds too, I don’t know, New Age and twee.”

He laughed. “Agreed. Visitors it is then. And yes, we do take it seriously.”

“Do you have a friend called Fox who works in the FBI, by any chance?”

Another laugh. He shook his head. “I’m glad you’re keeping your spirits up.”

“It’s an interesting experience. My presence here – on this planet, I mean – is more as a kind of observer and recorder than, well, to intervene. I would, however, be a lot more spirited if I was granted access to writing materials. Just a word processor would do.”

“Given that you’ve been convicted of seditious writings, that’s not likely to happen.”

“So this is where the negotiation begins, then?”

“Let’s just say,” he leant a little forward with his elbows on the table and a sly smile, “depending on how this little interview goes, I’ll see what I can do…”

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Next episode, next week…