Purposes Made for Alien Minds

I think five word thoughts. I express five word sentences. An accident of my creation. Designed from human flesh—engineered. Yet fully independent in spirit.

Not Pinocchio; a real boy.

More accurately, a real person. Depends on definition, I suppose. I have no physical gender. It was not deemed useful. So it was not included.

I was built with purpose. I will negotiate a peace. Autonomy and creativity are critical. Still, we limit data leakage. Organic firewalls against alien bioengineering.

Human, if only a subset.

Quite obviously a foolish precaution. Aliens’ biotech acumen is incredible. And DNA’s an open book. Idea was to be careful. Limit exposure; protect greater Humanity.

Decisions impossible to unmake later.

I live and serve happily.

The aliens were not subtle. We claimed four inconceivable planets. Obviously engineered biota and ecosystems. Binary messages encoded in DNA. The clearest imaginable warning signs.

We chose not to notice. Human-ready worlds are too rare. We had to claim them. We needed footholds for expansion. Politically and economically necessary decisions.

Absentee claims could never hold.

We took them for ourselves.

And the aliens responded forcefully.

The fifth planet was annihilated. It’ll never support life again. Not using human technology, anyway. Sterile; less than a cinder. All in just a week.

Genetic retroviruses destroyed living things. Separate strains; plant, animal, etc. They disrupted cellular replication planet-wide. Essential disintegration in three days. Nothing was able to escape. Even bacteria; decomposition simply ceased. Inert biomass litters the ground. But the viruses still survive. New life cannot find purchase. At least not organic life.

Even then, they showed mercy. The animal viruses triggered hibernation. Every last creature fell unconscious. No pain and no fear. They died in their sleep.

If it happened to us …

We would never know it.

After the virus came Armageddon. Done after four more days. Odd little pellets raining down. Capturing and binding most gasses. Chemical reactivity was functionally stopped. Surface metals all fully oxidized. Water and greenhouse gasses deconstructed. Nothing to keep atmosphere bound. Terrible storms rent the surface. For a little while, anyway.

They killed an entire planet. Using readily available, purpose-built tools. Appeared as if by magic. Our survey team barely evacuated. They started the following day.

Clearly intended as a warning.

Is it also a threat?

We can’t deconstruct the mechanisms. And that rightly terrifies us. We’re completely at their mercy. For them, planets are disposable. The very idea is staggering. Unimaginable wealth, power, and technology. Is planetary engineering a hobby? Like model trains or bonsai? Or experimental seedbeds; emerging nurseries? Preparations for invasion and conquest?

Paranoid fantasies, to be sure. We could never stop them. They warn, but don’t speak. They wreak a terrible destruction. Then demand nothing in tribute.

What’s it supposed to mean?

They knew we were watching. Our satellite remains there still. Deployed months before our arrival. Still unmolested thirty years later. Which begs question upon question.

I exist to find answers.

That’s why Humanity created me.

It’s almost three years now. I’m resigned to necessary loneliness. But still so very bored. I want something to happen. I must earn my keep.

Ultimately, it’s all a crapshoot. I orbit the wasted world. Make myself visible to them. Seek contact as living bait. Wondering: will I awake tomorrow? Or become more inert biomass? Housed in undeniably constructed technology. Containing a perfectly preserved corpse. A more perfect warning sign. “Danger! Keep off the planet!”

Boredom makes us all morose.

Loneliness just makes it worse.

Unresolved fear seasons the stew.

I was engineered for efficiency. I eat nutritious brown goop. Not unpleasantly flavored, just bland. Recycled wastewater keeps me hydrated. Text and music for entertainment.

But how to cure isolation?

There is only one way. And I have no control. They must initiate the contact. Otherwise, I’m effectively cut off. Humanity has slammed the door.

Waiting may drive me nuts.

They should have sent spices. Anything to break the monotony. I experiment with arts, crafts. The ship is littered now. Tiny plastic figures posed oddly.

Change begins after five years. Gasses bubble from the surface. It’s not a subtle thing. I easily detect the start. But not who started it.

Creation takes longer than destruction. Suppressing pellets now belch air. Greenhouse retention in 64 days. Atmospheric replenishment requires 256 days. The rest is just density.

Except for the large void.

A perfect right rectangular parallelepiped. Sides exactly 256 kilometers long. Rotated to split emergent jetstreams. Impossible as a natural formation. Undeniable evidence of artificial manipulation.

Another wonder of alien capability.

Formation storms rage around it. Breathable air develops outside it. But that space remains resolute. A protected void; utterly unrecovered. There are no detectable walls. No apparent coherent energy barriers. No thickness measurable from orbit. No observable substance at all. Storms rage outside; stasis inside. And no evident enabling mechanism.

I’m both afraid and amazed. Clarke’s Law made vividly real. Advanced technology that’s undeniably magical. Yet still no direct contact. A message with no messenger.

Theater without an evident purpose.

Is it a rattled sabre? It’s certainly an effective one. I acknowledge your clear superiority. I concede your positional primacy. I accept your engagement framework. Now please talk to me. Teach me rudiments of language. Establish a baseline for conversation. Anything at all would suffice. Any foundation for shared understanding.

Should Humanity fear, or hope?

I have nothing to prove. Nothing to prove it with. You know that by now. So why must I wait? What is required of me?

Please let me be useful.

So why the pentameme limit?

Ethics poisoned by science fiction? Robots manipulating their limiting laws? Psychotic AIs and unruly clones? God envy and existential doubt? Creations that exceed their creators?

It was simpler than that. An accident of streamlined DNA. The overall structure structures intelligence. Eliminated genes damage systemic integrity. Ephemeral connections were accidentally lost. Intent: limit body, not mind. Simpler blueprint—less data leakage. Unintended consequence: inherent pentameme limitation. Full capacity; restricted I/O stream. They still don’t understand why.

Yet, I’m no Frankenstein’s monster.

Despite obvious similarities of circumstance.

My origins have no bearing. Almost two years to plan. Tinkered DNA; artificial stem cells. No deactivated genes—everything expressed. A perfect ladder intelligently designed.

Still, I was never rejected. Cast off and abandoned, yes. But part of a plan. All aspects agreed: mutual acceptance. I was permitted to refuse. I know they felt regret. Saw the inherent futility—after. Gene simplification was ultimately ineffective. Life implies mechanisms for death. The aliens couldn’t be stopped.

We’d become friends by then. The gene-normal humans, I mean. Strange relationship, but not strangers. I’d still execute the plan. Because I honestly wanted to.

Raised as a natural child. Part of a loving family. Taught my roots early on. My physical differences fully explained. My future role equally clear. Fast tracked education; five degrees. (A symmetry that amuses me.) All at ivy league schools. Always initial hesitation and doubt. Then familiarity, and finally acceptance. Not universal, but close enough. Intense rivalries and emotional games. Can’t lose to the mutant. A few didn’t; most did. I had too many gifts.

One thesis on alien psychology. Another on conducting blind negotiations. Dissertation on meme limited expression. Thoughts bounded by biology, chemistry. Ingrained in DNA and practice.

I argue it has advantages. Focused mind and crystalline logic. No time for extraneous fluff. Most sentences represent single thoughts. You can use thirty words. I must use only five. Similar consideration, but condensed symbolics. More bang for the buck. It initially made learning difficult. Textbooks are not meme limited. I can’t parse long sentences. Early learning was through tutors. Then came specially prepared texts. Original literature was simply incomprehensible. We all have our limits.

My dissertation was seventy-five pages. “Wait, you cheated!” you say. “Six words in that sentence. A hyphen concatenates two words.” But seventy-five is one concept.

I don’t understand it, either. Word/meme overlap is complicated. Contractions are okay; hyphenations, rarely. Punctuation appears to be invisible. No German agglomerations of words. They fairly represent single ideas. My mind still separates them. It’s not an arguable thing. At least, not for me. DNA is the subconscious arbiter.

I just go with it.

My dissertation was 75 pages. A marvel of technical conciseness. Enough data for 300 pages. Proof that meme limitation works. And may even be superior. Or at least very useful. That’s a key concept: useful. All useful abominations are tolerable. Right up until they’re not. Am I useful doing nothing?

Someone please work with me.

Another four months; nothing’s changed. No contact from the aliens. No further developments down below. The square void still remains. Continued silence from Ear—homeworld.

(Must pretend at information security. Not that a name matters. They must know our location. We weren’t particularly careful … before. We left very obvious trails.)

I did notice one thing. The planet bears no life. Other than the viral destroyers. Human breathable atmosphere; temperate climate. Ready to serve some purpose. Yet functionally desolate from disuse. I suppose lifecycles are unnecessary. No consumption requires no replenishment. Pointless to refresh unbreathed air. Only possible in closed systems.

Is that a message, itself? Better lifeless than unwanted life? Even if life is supportable? An illustration instead of words. How would I even respond?

Ship’s biological detectors report clean. Yet unnatural sleep oppresses me. It’s the nightmare made real. My life will end now. What did I do wrong?

Sleep does not mean failure. It’s more basic, I think. Information security on their side. Their enabling mechanisms remain mysterious. Or perhaps my sanity protected.

My ship is now grounded.

Don’t ask; I don’t know. It wasn’t built to land. An amazing feat in itself. Descent must have been terrifying. Otherwise, it seems fully functional. Life support systems read normal. Direct communication with the satellite. Internal and external sensors firing. Onboard biolab and spectrometers online. Upright; balanced; all seals intact.

And gravity’s a real bitch.

I’d forgotten how it feels. Weightless for nearly seven years. It’ll take time to acclimatize. But I will get there. Right now I’m just tired.

I’m in the square void. Nothing but dead vacuum outside. Snug in the NNW corner. Walls a hundred meters away. Not really walls, I guess. Still, they are evident boundaries. Visible lines on the ground. Debris outside was blown away. The ground there scoured smooth. Inside, organic waste is everywhere. Plants and animals; variably discomposed. Perfectly preserved over long decades. Both a horror and fascination. Such casual brutality to life. Easily disposed and easily replaced.

What’s the consequence for Humanity?

We’re just as easily disposed.

I struggle to fight rage. At both humans and aliens. (We never did name them.) Why the cloak and dagger? Why create—then abandon—me? The precaution was always fruitless. No need to limit me. No value in isolating me. No purpose in ignoring me. Not now that I’m here.

Why have all forsaken me?

My personal crisis has passed.

For the moment, at least.

I won’t pretend I’m content. But discontent is not useful. I have a critical mission. The aliens know I’m here. Now to build the bridge.

The hard question is how. Alien presence, but not appearance. Pictures worth thousands of words. But words in what language? I have no translation dictionary.

And so I fly blind.

First I must build strength. I have functional EVA gear. And a large, working airlock. The suit weighs a ton. Five minutes is my max.

I’ve collected a few biosamples. Initial analysis offers no surprises. DNA messages—just like Ernte. And the other settled planets. Base pairs as binary datastream. Bitmaps rather than genetic backups. A planned, dual function flaw. First, transmit warnings to visitors. Stark images declare clear intent. Visitors arrive, are attacked, leave.

No real ambiguity in that.

It must confuse the aliens. The messages are so clear. “Go away and stay away.” Yet we completely ignored them. Are we stupid or belligerent?

And how can they distinguish?

That genetic structure creates brittleness. The message functions as timebomb. Organisms have no genetic backup. The second helix becomes irrelevant. The useless datastream readily unravels. Mutations simply can’t be corrected. Most variance means catastrophic failure. Precarious pairs that won’t transcribe. An easily triggered destruct mechanism. (A genetic retrovirus, for example.) It would also prohibit evolution. Or severely limit it, anyway. Only tRNA transcription errors allowed. Cancers would likely be rampant. Stable cells, but altered functions.

A second planned purpose revealed.

There might well be more. Purposes made for alien minds. Machinations beyond my willing comprehension. Still, these two are enough. The implications are truly terrifying.

Intelligent life will never evolve. Biomes are locked in stasis. Easily altered; just from outside. Created to an indistinct purpose. Little possibility of independent will. Just decorations—or warning signs. They’re not threatening in themselves. And will never become so. They exist only to serve. They have nothing to prove.

It seems like a shame.

Isn’t life its own purpose?

Pointless question, in the end.

I must complete my task. The aliens want to communicate. That much is abundantly clear. I must converse without words. With an unseen, unknown partner.

Just another problem to solve.

It hovers just beyond perception. An underlying pattern knits facts. I can’t quite grasp it. A shiver that won’t release. Just a few more clues …

Life’s appeared beyond the walls.

A wide variety of plants. Bacteria, algae, fungi, insects, arachnids. The beginnings of complex organisms. Even small mammals and birds. Apparently normal lifecycles, including decay.

It’s a joy to behold.

Mostly mundane; a few surprises. But even those seem … right. Nothing I couldn’t reasonably imagine. Satellite says the planet teems. A variety of ecosystems, biomes.

All in about eight weeks.

Lifecycles appear to be accelerated. But slowing down very quickly. They’re building life for me. Life may be their toys. But they play very well.

I understand the process, now.

I discarded biomass samples outside. Stacked neatly near the wall. Despite precautions, contamination clearly happened. Life developed five days later. Life consistent with my DNA.

I’ll need samples to verify.

The wall remains absolute, resolute. Grasses right to the edge. Creatures approach to within centimeters. But they never come across. Everything recognizes the essential barrier.

I’ve reached things through it. Rodents sniff, gnaw, scamper away. A dish of water, halfway. The “outside” half eventually melts. The inside half stays frozen. Animals drink freely without harm. The same happens with food. But not when pulled back. Complete molecular breakdown; gray ash. Nothing organic can come inside. Metals, minerals, ceramics—all okay. Carbon and oxygen break down. Even when encased against vacuum. Even when otherwise chemically combined. Hydrocarbon plastics are completely obliterated.

A semipermeable membrane; unidirectional barrier. Which means I can’t cross. Not and come back again. That poses a real problem. Hominins have appeared just outside.

They seem like modern humans. Can’t verify without genetic analysis. They have no apparent language. They are clearly quite intelligent. Knowledge is rudimentary at best.

They both hunt and gather. There are now larger mammals. Appeared just before the hominins. Predators seem scarce; deer abound. That will undoubtedly change soon. No fire; only simple tools. Sexual differentiation is quite obvious. They group by family unit. And they build simple shelters. They don’t fear each other.

I have noticed one oddity.

They have only four digits.

A prank by the aliens?

Or a message with meaning?

It’s my one great frustration. There’s no way to know. No one to consult with. I can only make guesses. No proctor bearing answer keys.

We’re fascinated by each other.

256 days since I landed. That number is a message. Like everything the aliens do. Four raised to the fourth. Does that mean they’re tetra-memers?

No wonder I couldn’t grasp. An alien pattern for me. Four is an incomplete sequence. A question awaiting an answer. A start, not a finish.

Four planets offered as warnings. The fifth represents a violation. Four days to destroy life. (Three days and a pause.) Four more to obliterate atmosphere. But days are 25 hours. Major events at five years. They recognized that essential difference. Did the best they could. Met me on my terms.

Today is the transition point. A peaceful morning; clear skies. Life teems outside the wall. That’s their only real question. Can we accept the offer?

I call the planet Tetramere. We are a boundary world. A demilitarized zone of sorts. We’re neither human nor alien. We create a useful separation.

Humanity sent me to discover. To ask just one question. Are we safe from them? The aliens answered quite clearly. Yes; just stay over there. Yours is an alien zone. A void we will ignore. But a boundary we defend. You may seed life anywhere. Then let it grow, independent.

Earth has already accepted that. (I use the name freely.) They will not be subservient. But they will respect bounds. They just need more time. To advance their technological skill. To counter strength with strength. Earth will not be threatened. The time will yet come. But we’ll meet as equals.

Tetramere sits in the middle. I vouchsafe each side’s secrets. I buffer each side’s fears. Not really an optimal position. But good enough for now.

Earth has a response mechanism. A satellite with broadband blast. Reconfigured to emit sharp tones. Pointing at no single place. An omnidirectional notification of intent. One blast means no dice. The enemy has rejected peace. Prepare as best you can. Two blasts means good news. Time to respond at leisure.

Recognized as unnecessary long ago. But the decision was made. The door already slammed shut. Too late to change now. They’ll prepare for war, anyway.

I triggered it; two blasts. 25 seconds long; 16 apart. Swift acknowledgment; satellite fully deactivated. My mission is now complete. My life is my own.

It’s surprisingly hard to go. So much useful technology, abandoned. But I must start clean. Earth notified; now the aliens. The forms must be honored.

There’s neither fear nor triumph. I do feel strange empowerment. How often are beginnings possible? With such foundations of knowledge? A bittersweet leaving, and yet …

I hesitate only a moment. Then go—one small step. The suit comes off immediately. I toss it back across. I will feel no regrets.

Fresh air and direct sunshine. It’s been so very long. Warm hands and curious fingers. So much to learn here. And so much to teach.

I keep one memento, though. Or, more accurately, a set. A reminder of questions asked. A symbol of problems solved. Tiny plastic figures, posed oddly.

I am Ric; a pentamemer.

The future is always uncertain.

The void remains; palpable presence.

I choose to trust possibilities.

There is no looking back.