Cultural relationships

"Mr. Ambassador, the ship is two minutes of orbit. The commander is waiting for you on the deck."

The officer politely withdraws and signals me to the door. I go out, in a hurry to take the invitation. The big moment is approaching. Emotions rush my stomach. I would postpone the bridge to go to the toilet if it wasn't about the big moment. Deși de peste douăzeci de ani în meserie, înainte de misiune mă cuprind aceleași emoții, pentru ca să mă părăsească definitiv în momentul acțiunii.

The commander greets me briefly and indicates my central hub. Planet Analysis occupies the entire panorama - a pitch globe wrapped in gold nets. The view is overwhelming.

"Can we open the channels, Mr. Commander?" I ask, failing to take my gaze off the picture.

In a few seconds, the deck is filled with strips and buzzing. A voice with a broken sound begins a long litany in the language of analytics. At her hearing I remember the refugee ambassador.

The first contact was made half a century ago, in an unpopular solar system, by the M-Class ship-"White Pason". The first form of intelligence we have ever met in our cosmic pilgrimages. Following the relatively unsuccessful testing of communication, they were called 'analytics'. Their types of thinking and communication are based on a mathematical system without any correspondence with our way of thinking. And their mathematics is so 'foreign' (the government forbade the use of the 'advanced' term), that the only ones resulting from that meeting were to find out the position of their planet and the conclusion that they are a friendly, civilized and technologically advanced race, only as different from us.

The computer translates a few seconds after the message is over: "Message equivalent to wish-Welcome! Six units-time until guided surface contact."

The commander looks at me questioningly.

"In six hours they will send a guide to take me from the trajectory and lead me to the assocolization point. I have to start ..."

My words remain in my throat. The commander returns surprised to his officers. I sign with his hand to relax. The music of the analytics enters the path of the waves in the ship. Dubious, I tell myself at first, then I am amazed by its complexity and beauty. Some individuals who speak mathematically, probably sing mathematically, and the result cuts your breath.

"Mr. Ambassador, do you think it would be wise to interrupt the connection?"

"No, not yet, Mr. Commander. They could be interpreted as a hostile gesture. After all, it is only a gift from them. Leave it for half an hour, to realize that I have received and accepted the gift. I am going to prepare for travel. In exactly 5 hours and 54 minutes I have to be at the contact."

I leave the deck feeling that emotions evaporate.

A decade and a half from contact I received the visit of their ambassador. He managed to make us understand that he wants to obey a process of human cultural impregnation. Gesture greeted by us, because only in this way we would have been able to establish an effective communication. After the first two years he began to discern the power structure of the human society and to address the due organs, assuring them of the peaceful and diplomatic intentions of the civilization. In another five years he had managed to assimilate the conceptual basis of human culture. One day he appeared in the Parliament and officially declared that he was giving up his position as an ambassador, asking for cultural asylum. He said he was not and would not be oppressed by the political system of his civilization, as there was no one. But as a result of the cultural impregnation of the last 7 years has lost its identity and any social characteristic of analytical. Even though he was physically special, by his new spirituality he had become a earth. Thus the role of representative of his civilization of origin had become incompatible. Also his return to the analysis remained pointless.

The only plausible explanation of the loss of 'analytical' identity was that "he was a system of mathematical values in a matrix of individual physical existentiality. Through the process of human culturalization, he has lost the character of analytical universality and with him, a huge baggage of mathematical operations and procedures at the nervous level, becoming an individual physical, an individual physical person. Through the prism of the new acquired culture, he cannot understand the civilization that originally. ”

After another two decades the land decided to send their own representative to analytics. Adică eu.

* * *

The shuttle moves like a bolid to one of the light agglomerations on the surface of the planet. At the determined time, the on-board computer leaves the vehicle in the 'power' of analytics, to guide and associate it. I am in constant connection with the orbit ship and I notice with satisfaction that the connection is maintained in good conditions. I try to describe everything I see, although the video camera works, but the words are unsatisfactory for the strangeness of the place and the speed of travel.

The agglomeration involves urban, to which I am heading, begins to resemble a giant laboratory. I have no other terms of comparison. Structures a few times higher than the highest terrestrial skyscrapers, curved in miraculous spirals, are crossed by intense lights. Metallic blocks with fine work in bas -reliefs are poured on whole kilometers without the slightest visible opening. Tubes uniting 2-3 structures are stretched by air on tens of kilometers, without being supported at the voltage points of support pillars. Their whole architecture challenges the laws of physics as we are. I see no trace of vehicles, or movement on the outside, which makes me think that all their physical activity is likely to happen inside the buildings.

The shuttle is oriented towards the wall of one of the metal blocks. I wait to see a gate opening to allow my access inside, but I do not perceive any movement. I guess they will couple the wall shuttle, and I will have to leave it outside and penetrate through a camouflaged door.

I shout when the shuttle is pushed against the wall that allows penetration with a viscous consistency. The vehicle passes through the wall without any difficulty and in a few minutes we are on the other side. Dark and yet distinguish surfaces like assocolizing tracks with access strips to them.

The shuttle is delicately placed on one of the platforms. I review my outfit, take my luggage concentrated in a backpack and open the outer door. At the exit a capsule is waiting for me. It is a transparent sphere, diffusely illuminated, or rather filled with a variety of fog. I apologize from the ones on the ship for my descriptions that probably sound imbecil, but I have no time to look for my words now for things without correspondence in the terrestrial reality.

I hesitate for a moment, then I remember the conclusions so far of contacts with them, as well as the continuous assurances of their ambassador-friendly, civilized, technological, interested in a peaceful relationship with the Earth. "Just a bit strange," you mumbled for me and as I explain to the commander that I didn't add anything, I take the two steps to the capsule. I control my camera with a panoramic opening, which grabs my helmet on my head like a strip, then the microphone, all the sensors carefully glued to the body and I feel calmer that everything works normally. "Nothing" did not try to bush my contact with my peers. I enter the fog.

The interior space of the sphere is empty, without the slightest piece of furniture. I think of a chair or something similar. I keep my curses and the impulse to ignore it and move on the floor. I find surprised that the so -called fog that lightens diffuses is formed as a protective layer between me and walls, creating a kind of gaseous mattress. It breaks my movements, but it allows me absolutely any position I would like. I smile enthusiastically about the practicality of the idea and try to explain the sensation of the orbit.

Once inside, the capsule closes automatically and begins to catch speed to one of the walls. Passing through the wall at a great speed still causes me, but I try to get used to it. The bile-vechic travels with the tunnels, falls on light spirals that lead me to the games in the fun parks, only like the diffuse gas that surrounds me removes any sensation of fall or too high speed, leaving only the possibility of perceiving these realities. I hope that everything is seen on the ship. The commander reassures me that everything is fine, that the connection is unaltered.

We pass over a-I found a huge hall at first-traffic areas, as I found afterwards. The area is full of analytics, which I see for the first time since I arrived. It moves with studied movements, on predetermined routes, leaving aside that everyone is in an interaction position with others. I do not manage to perceive any one that moves randomly, or walking, joking with me and only then do I realize the tension that encompassed me. From time to time my road intersects with that of other traveling spheres. I can not distinguish if other analyticals were inside them or not.

My vehicle suddenly sticks to an opaque wall. An analytical text appears on the wall of the sphere, which the costume of the costume immediately translates: "Welcome! Follow the diplomatic attachment procedure", in an approximate interpretation of notions.

The capsule begins to penetrate the wall slowly. Its black paste flows through the walls of the sphere inside. I look surprised around and try to push myself to the opposite wall, but the gas pressed by the black substance pushes me back and imposes a standing position, with my hands and feet outstretched. Finally I realize that the gas exerts a controlled pressure, and not how random. Otherwise I would not be 'obliged' to this position. The commander calls me something in my headphones. I manage to perceive his panic out of his voice and an ice drop stretches on my heart with the slowdown. I am surprised by the calm that encompassed me. It can only be stupid to explain with nonchalance, because I do not feel any scientific curiosity at this time. Only the burning patina on the heart alerts me in developing events. In the headphones it is a infernal joke, I would like to be able to cut the connection, to recover, I have to put in front of a whole crew now and later of an entire planet.

The black paste is a few centimeters from my nose. Sweat bribes stretch on my temples as I try useless to move my hands. At first I swear at them, then I explain them from my few anatomy knowledge why they will not go, as we are the people made, I try to prove that they would not take this treatment, that if they believe that I cannot survive according to my physical norms here, I could act as an ambassador from the orbit. The computer reminds me that the notions I use are far too complex to be understood by analytics. That they could fulfill the function of interpreter if I expressed myself more mathematically and with more primary notions.

The cry of horror stops me in half. The substance incorporated me like a pitch bath, which was not satisfied only to cover me but filled my mouth, esophagus, stomach and slowly, slowly, the inside of the body. My eyes and nose were not covered, my mouth was wide open in the middle of the scream cut by the blackness that now holds my tongue in the air.

I realize that I can still breathe, that nothing hurts, that they seem to have remained 'functional'. I just can't move.

The vehicle resumes its journey once it has passed the pitch wall. I was slowly crossing a light curtain that requires my retains, my eyelids being hardened. I have the belief that I will blind. But not so. Everything is only the irrational fear of human thinking in the face of analytics pragmatism. Although honestly, I would have devoid of 'diplomatic attachment'.

The capsule reaches the end of a horizontal corridor, slows down, tilts slightly and then falls through a few kilometers, to the heart of the planet. I would scream if I had how. My heart bursts into the chest, but 'something' controls his beats, controls the blood of the blood at the temples. That 'something' that keeps my body in optimum functioning. Analytics with their safe and accurate processes.

I finally distinguish the end of the fall - a net that closes the tunnel. I crash in free fall directly toward her. Urlu this time, scream in my head, in my mind, in my heart, with all the terror and despair I can find. We pass through the net, through what at the last moment I realized it was a graph. Probably my whole body is now pieces, yes it is, but I do not feel anything, and I still think.

Thin rays like the hairs crossed the darkness and are set up in the cubes of my former body through the black paste. Phosphorescent information arrhythmic pulsates on the hundreds of ray channels. I see two small grids, two complex coordinates systems with fluctuating information, approaching my eyes. I have no power to feel fear. The coordinates grids pierce my eyeballs, my vision is disturbed, the spark plays me in the visual field, only now I feel something stuck in the crest, I lose my acquaintance, or may I identity and reminding me at the last moment by their ambassador I have the power to laugh in the part of the brain, I still have a human, I still need a human, de existențialitate fizică individuală și atunci probabil că o să fiu un simplu număr. Maybe seven, this was my favorite number.