Official Reply

We danced in the radio room, shouting and exchanging high fives as the computer churned. Translating an alien message. One had come at last. Our missives had been sent and now we had, at last, an official reply.

"Quiet down!" someone shouted, waving her hands toward the floor as if to physically dampen our energy. "We're getting results."

We obeyed, standing as bundles of muted energy, ready to hear the first words humanity had ever received from an alien intelligence.

"Alright," said a pair of glasses at a computer. "Here it is."

We held our breath as the computer spoke, its synthetic voice sounding, to our ears, as the voice of an alien official, an emissary between worlds, a voice that said in tinny tones—

"Just shut up already."

We had gathered from one end of the building to the other when word came. Some had run across campus on mere suspicion. We packed, one after another, into the small operations room to be there for the grand moment, the moment human history changed forever. And that was it. That was the moment. No bright "Welcome, humanity!" No magnificent "We are the great So-and-so's." No booming "We will conquer your puny world." Just, "Put a cork in it."

The room was silent. We shifted and glanced at each other, not so much obeying the command as hoping there was more to the message. Or maybe we were afraid whoever spoke first would be nominated to reply. As it became clear that there was no more to be translated, a low murmur started. It swelled until the room echoed in guessful pick-up arguments.

Someone shouted over the din, "Just shut up already!"

"Too soon!"

"I'm serious," the first voice called. "Settle down. Get some quiet in here."

The chatter simmered, then returned to a low murmur, then died. We turned to the speaker, who had assumed the platform of a folding chair and held her hands as if about to conduct.

"What you heard is just a first pass," she said. "There's obviously much analysis yet to do."

"But what does it mean?"

She dropped her hands and rolled her eyes, a mother repeating herself for the umpteenth time. "We don't yet know."

"I say they're tired of all our messages asking if there's anyone home."

"Maybe they don't care for our advertising."

There was a giggle, soon silenced by the matron. "We can speculate all we want, but until we examine the computer's translation, there isn't any more I can say. I suggest you all return to your departments and offices and let us get to work."

The crowd grumbled and spilled into the hallway.

"Marvelous," someone by me grumbled. He grabbed my arm. "What do you think, Gilman?"

"Me? Oh, well..."

"I think they're monks," he said, "vow of silence and all that. Or maybe they hear EM like we see red to violet and we're polluting their visual spectrum, like living next to a guy who runs his band saw at midnight. If my neighbor did that, I'd send the same message. What about you?"

"I suppose I would," I replied, and pried my arm away.

He took my shoulder. "No, I mean, what's your theory? You must have one."

My eyes darted. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"C'mon, Gilman, you've always got a theory—"

"It's just that space is so big—"

"What's that?"

"Er..."

"Space is big. Yes. Go on."

"Well..." I said, glancing around and hoping the others were caught up in their own speculation. I spoke low. "Suppose they haven't figured out faster-than-light travel. Maybe, like us, they can't even go one percent the speed of light."

"Space is big. Everybody's slow. I'm with you."

I shrugged. "Maybe they've given up."

"Given up what?"

"Given up trying to visit other star systems. It takes too long. Maybe interstellar distances are a genuine barrier to fraternization. It takes light too long for real dialog to be possible. Maybe there's no point in trying and they've decided it's best to keep to themselves."

"You're saying—"

"Well—"

"You think they told us to shut up because—"

"It's just an idea—"

He shouted in disbelief. "You think we discovered an alien civilization, and they're homebodies?"

The corridor fell silent. Everyone stared.

He burst out laughing, and the starers joined him. "Go back to your books, Gilman!" he said, and the cacophony in the hall started up again. "I think we know who the homebody is." He walked off laughing.

I scowled. Just, I thought, shut up already.