Do the Math
by Mary Jo Rabe
Craig McKeever squirmed on his flimsy, plastic stool, and then slid his thick fingers over the smooth, hand-held communications device that activated the independent viewing screen. Said screen took up one wall of his standard-issue, minimally furnished, one-room apartment.
The suddenly bright screen in his darkened room felt like it almost blinded him, and he had to rub his tired eyes and look away. Maybe he did need to get more sleep at night.
Turning his back to the screen, he looked around the room. As always, the various shades of indifferent red in the shag, plastic carpet, the less than sturdy, plastic furniture, and the fold-down, plastic cot all reassured him. He smiled and tried to dredge up some optimism for the upcoming day.
To begin with, he liked it here. It might be an ordinary residence as far as Earth-influenced, Martian architecture was concerned, but the mathematically pleasing proportions of the furnishings satisfied his preferences for consistency and balance. Most importantly, this residence was on Mars.
He turned back, logged in on the Bradbury Habitat employment site, and looked balefully at the list of open positions. “The dismal options displayed before him soon had him groaning and chugging another bottle of alcohol-free Martian Dew.
It was already his fifth this morning. It wasn’t that Martian Dew provided such a delicious, potable experience. The beverage itself tasted like an artificial chemical soup trying to imitate an Earthie tangerine, but it had redeeming qualities. The lukewarm liquid rid his throat of caustic dust no one could escape on Mars, and drinking it gave him something to do while he tried to avoid thinking about his immediate prospects.
Craig had actually never minded the ubiquitous peroxide stench of the Martian dust. It was part of the Martian experience, and something he expected after his extensive research on Martian living conditions. However, it was true that the dust wasn’t kind to human mucus membranes.
It hadn’t been easy for him to get to Mars, and so he didn’t want to complain about any of the minor drawbacks that the settlers had to put up with.
As a lanky teenager back on Earth, he had assumed he was a genius at mathematics. He sailed through all his high school math classes with top grades. He always found it easy to puzzle through the problems his teachers presented and find the correct solutions. Craig was a stodgy plodder who patiently tried out all formulas he thought might work.
In college, things were different. It seemed like his peers could see a random collection of numbers and immediately come up with a formula that would generate them. The other students had a knack for mathematics that Craig didn’t have. Craig could only solve clearly defined problems that teachers created.
This caused him to give up on a possible career in mathematics just like he gave up on most athletic activity. He became sedentary and gained weight which he never really lost. Being taller than average, this gave his appearance a vague similarity to that of a hulking grizzly bear.
Four uneventful years of college were enough to equip him with a bachelor’s degree in math, a teaching certificate, and a vague yearning to do something different. Several unhappy years of trying to teach basic math at the junior high school level solidified this desire.
However, alternate prospects for employment seemed unlikely until he saw an ad online for colonists on Mars. A famous cartoon Martian jumped around and sang about needing recruits for Mars. It had taken Craig a while to decide what he wanted to do with his life, but suddenly he knew what he wanted. He wanted to live and work on Mars.
With the assistance of technology, he could travel to the top of Olympus Mons and stand in outer space. He could hike through the Valles Marineris. He could ski down the Martian sand dunes. He could be a spacefarer.
Teaching might even be more pleasant on Mars.
Now that he was on Mars, he was still dissatisfied. Without even looking, he tossed the empty bottle over his shoulder. A marginally potable soft drink didn’t change facts. He’d made it to Mars. In theory, he had been employed as a math teacher in the Bradbury Habitat school system for almost a Martian year.
However, he experienced relatively frequent, intrusive thoughts about his career choices. The kids said he was boring and made math boring. Craig could only show them how he mastered mathematics, with a plodding, stubborn, and patient determination. The other teachers and the kids’ parents didn’t think that was enough. They wanted the kids to find math exciting and fun.
Craig didn’t really do fun or excitement. His joy came from the success you achieved with slow and steady perseverance.
If Craig lost this job and couldn’t find another on Mars, he faced being sent back to Earth after which he would be hit with the costs of his round-trip ticket to the red planet. That was specified in the contract he had signed. Only after five Earth years of employment on Mars would he no longer have to repay his travel expenses.
The wobbling piles of Martian Dew bottles in every corner of his apartment displayed the respective shapes of Olympus, Elysium, and Pavonis Mons. The piles shuddered with every newly tossed arrival and created an unnerving clatter, but somehow the bottles themselves refrained from going their separate ways. The Martian mountains maintained their integrity.
Craig tried to consider these piles of plastic bottles to be his role models. You had to be flexible, willing to wobble around, but keep your identity.
He stared back at the employment site, mentally clicking on the places he could apply. He actually felt relieved at the thought of giving up on teaching. He hadn’t enjoyed it, and obviously he wasn’t any good at it. However, none of the job ads he saw sounded any better.
So far no one on Mars needed a mathematician who basically couldn’t do anything more than the cheapest calculator could. The cheapest calculator was also a less demanding employee.
Craig calculated that he had three choices: He could find a different job somehow on Mars. Or, he could accept deportation back to Earth and spend the rest of his life trying to repay the costs of his round-trip ticket. Or, he could do nothing.
So far, he had chosen the last alternative, which, however, probably wouldn’t be available for long.
His hand-held communicator belted out his favorite Big Ten fight song to indicate an incoming call, and he sang along with off-key enthusiasm. Ever since his employment troubles on Mars began, he got more and more nostalgic for his college days.
It was Emma, the cafeteria lady who kept the inhabitants of the Bradbury Habitat well fed, well informed, and therefore generally well adjusted. She dispensed delicious food, accurate gossip, and useful advice. She was everyone’s kindly but firm grandmother, the one person in the habitat who could cajole obedience from any and every potential malcontent or troublemaker.
She also claimed that every human being had some talent; it just needed to be discovered. For some reason she had taken an interest in Craig.
Emma’s elderly but unwrinkled face appeared, surrounded by her head of short, curly, white hair that filled up the top quadrant of Craig’s communicator wall.
“Have you heard the news?!ˮ she asked eagerly, her voice rising to screeching heights. Craig had never seen Emma this excited before. Emma always knew everything before most others did. No one could keep secrets from her, perhaps because it was her billionaire brother Ned who was financing the entire Mars project. Ned, obviously, had his sources of information..
“No,ˮ Craig said, his eyebrows shooting up. Ever since people started suggesting that he quit teaching, he stopped viewing the habitat net offerings except for half-hearted attempts at finding a new job.
“Dr. Paul Power has discovered ancient, underground, alien cities not far from the Bradbury Habitat,ˮ Emma shouted. “This is fantastic news for both planets, but they are keeping it quiet for the time being.ˮ
“Why?ˮ Craig asked without any great interest.
“I think mostly because of Dr. Power’s gut instinct,ˮ Emma said. “He wants to mull over the consequences of this news and how it will affect people on both planets. You don’t want governments doing anything rash, and you don’t want individual psychopaths deciding to take things into their own hands because we have encountered space aliens.ˮ
“All right,ˮ Craig said. “Then why are you telling me this? I assume Dr. Power thinks you will keep his secrets.ˮ
“Yes, I keep any number of secrets here on Mars,ˮ Emma agreed. “As long as I agree. I know I can depend on you to do what I say, and Dr. Power trusts me.ˮ
“Right,ˮ Craig said. “I actually only talk to you, not to anyone else here on Mars. I really don’t have any friends.ˮ
Emma shook her head.
“Anyway, this news could mean a job for you,ˮ Emma said. “Dr. Power will need people to help him evaluate what they find down there.ˮ
“Hmm,ˮ Craig said. “I’m no archeologist and no expert on space aliens. I’ve got no qualifications except for teaching math to kids who hate me, but that said, I’ve also got no job. So what could I possibly contribute to the analysis?ˮ
“People here on Mars are generally pragmatic,ˮ Emma said. “Show what you can do, and they will be grateful.ˮ
“I’m not sure that I can do anything useful,ˮ Craig said.
“Nonsense,ˮ Emma said. “You just haven’t had the opportunity to show what you can do yet. I’ll tell Dr. Power to expect you.ˮ
“So I should just go there without any appointment?ˮ Craig asked.
“Yes,ˮ Emma said. “Remember, Dr. Power doesn’t want to go public with his discovery yet. He doesn’t want to risk any official records of people other than his staff visiting the site. So just go.ˮ
Craig knew better than to ignore Emma’s commands. Besides, what did he have to lose?
He turned off his viewing screen and shuffled over to the hygiene area. His appearance seemed good enough. His crew-cut was dry from his brief morning shower, and his sweatshirt and jogging pants weren’t any more wrinkled than usual.
Craig tapped at his communicator and called up a robot car to take him to Dr. Power’s offices. He left his apartment and loped over to the transport tunnel to wait for his ride.
The gray, robot vehicle reminded him of a fragile, Earthie, dune buggy, four narrow seats, a frame instead of a roof. The dashboard was the robot driver or at least the software interface. He climbed in and pressed the respective area on his communication device.
The vehicle accelerated quickly to an impressive speed and tore off through the tunnels. Craig thought it was a pleasant ride despite the whining noise from the electric motor.
When the vehicle stopped, Craig climbed out and walked over to the pedestrian path with a sign for Mars Institute of Technology. When he got to the entrance, a door opened, and a tall, thin, middle-aged man walked out.
In obedience to the Martian customs, the man raised his right hand and gave the four-fingered, v-shaped, peace salute. “Mr. McKeever?ˮ he asked in a squeaking, high-pitched voice. “I’m Paul Power. Emma said you would be able to help us.ˮ
“Dr. Power?ˮ Craig asked. “I don’t ever underestimate Emma, but she might be assuming too much here. I’d like to do whatever I can, though.ˮ
“Forget the titles,ˮ Paul Power said. “Make it Paul and Craig. We have real work to do and shouldn’t bother with vanities. Follow me.ˮ
“Fine with me, Paul,ˮ Craig said and followed him through the entrance and down the hall to a small office.
Paul’s office had three chairs and one desk, cluttered with devices of various sizes that he must have accumulated since his college days. “Have a seat,ˮ Paul said. Craig selected what looked like the sturdiest chair and sat down carefully. Paul was several centimeters taller than Craig but probably weighed half as much.
“One of my research assistants will be here soon,ˮ Paul said. “Then we’ll take a surface vehicle to the excavation site, and I’ll show you the underground city.ˮ
“You really discovered evidence of extraterrestrial visitors?ˮ Craig asked.
“Well, we discovered that some life forms must have been here on Mars a few million years ago. Our radiocarbon dating devices are that accurate. The spectacular underground cities, and the architecture show a place where thousands of creatures must have lived. We found giant, stone furniture and sculptures of creatures with no resemblance to human beings. There are sites that look like parks and large music halls.ˮ
“How did you discover these alien cities?ˮ Craig asked.
“By accident, how else?ˮ Paul said. “Diana Schiaparelli, one of the habitat engineers, was looking for new sources of water underground. Her robots encountered a smooth wall far below the surface. Since I don’t have a lot to do as an archeologist yet, she called me. We decided to let one of the robots bore a hole into the wall.ˮ
“And you found cities?ˮ Craig asked.
“We took pictures. After we saw what was behind the wall, we had the robots carve an entrance. Once we went in, it was obvious that this was an earlier residence of life forms that didn’t originate on Earth. The structures are completely alien, both in size and proportions. Aliens were here.ˮ
“Then why did they leave?ˮ Craig asked.
“That’s where we hope you can help us, but only if you are able to keep your mouth shut until we figure out how to present this news without mobilizing the crazies on Earth and Mars. One of the rooms has all seven walls covered with alien etchings. Emma thought you would be able to decipher and translate them. Then, at least, we would know who we’re dealing with.ˮ
Craig shook his head. “I’m no linguist and no artist,ˮ he said. “Just a completely unimaginative math enthusiast. All I can promise you is that I won’t reveal anything of what I see.ˮ
“I’ll trust Emma’s instincts,ˮ Paul said. His communicator jangled, and Paul continued, “That’s one of my staff. He’s waiting for us in a surface vehicle. Let’s go.ˮ
Fortunately, the surface suits in the exit area came in all sizes, and Craig found one that he could squeeze into. He actually enjoyed the ride over the surface. He had to admit that Mars had an intriguing beauty with its red and gray rocks and thin, dusty air. Craig was beginning to regret holing up in his apartment so often instead spending time on the surface exploring the planet.
After an hour or so, the surface vehicle slid down a stone ramp, invisible to anyone on the surface who didn’t know that it was there. Once it stopped underground, Paul motioned for Craig to climb out of the vehicle and follow him. They walked over a narrow rocky path for probably a kilometer and then reached a wall with a red door.
Paul pushed the door open, and Craig followed him. They were in what vaguely resembled an Earthie amphitheater with a huge central area surrounded by rows of narrow slabs.
Paul kept walking and then walked under an arch into a, for lack of a better word, room, with seven sides, movable horizontal and vertical racks attached to the walls, and a ceiling some hundred meters above the floor. The walls were covered with engraved symbols.
“Wow,ˮ Craig said.
“This isn’t even the most impressive part of the city,ˮ Paul said. “But this is where you could help us. All these scratchings in the wall have to mean something.ˮ
Craig stared at the walls. He thought he detected some patterns or repeated symbols.
“I’d be happy to help,ˮ he said. “But, to be honest, you don’t need me. You need to photograph these symbols and run them through pattern recognition software to see if they make any sense. Any computer could work much faster and probably much more accurately than I can.ˮ
“Then we couldn’t keep the symbols secret,ˮ Paul said sadly. “We thought of sending pictures to mathematicians or intelligence agencies on Earth, but no transmitted digital signal stays secret for long. You, however, can work here in secret and we won’t publicize your findings until we decide how to announce this contact with space aliens.ˮ
“But I don’t work fast, and I can’t promise that I will be able to make any sense out of the symbols,ˮ Craig said.
“You think you can do this, then?ˮ Paul asked.
“I remember how I felt with the first algebra test I took in the ninth grade,ˮ Craig said. “The problems seemed incomprehensible until I got started. Then I found I could work through them and solve them, step by step. I have the same feeling here.ˮ
“Then get started,ˮ Paul said. “I’ll have our secretary take care of the bureaucratic nonsense so that you officially take a leave of absence from your school and work for me. We’ll see that you get any equipment you need. I’ll provide scrapbooks you can write your notes into. I don’t want any electronic records.ˮ
Craig doubted that his school director would cause any problems. On the contrary, he would be relieved to get rid of Craig.
And so, Craig started his new career as an alien translator. It was slow going at first. There were so many different symbols and so many combinations. However, plodding along, he gradually was able to discern patterns, then repetitions, then possible meanings.
People much smarter than he was had always wondered if mathematics wasn’t possibly a universal language, the lingua franca of the universe. These aliens must have made the same assumption, that other sentient creatures would be able to understand their math. Craig could only work through these symbols as if they were a high school math test, trying out a base system, a formula, and a set of calculations, one after another.
He lost track of time. Martin drove him home every night and picked him up every morning. Craig didn’t sleep well. Paul didn’t want him to take any images of the symbols out of the underground cities, but Craig’s mind memorized the ones he concentrated on every day, and these images controlled his dreams.
During the day, he made occasional use of the hygiene facilities set up for the archeology staff in the underground cities, and Paul brought him food and Martian Dew at regular intervals.
Probably Paul hoped for some breakthrough each time he brought Craig the finest food Emma could produce for transport.
Gradually Craig recognized that the center wall was a kind of mathematical primer, a set of instructions to help others comprehend steps of a unique, mathematical logic.
This was not the work of human beings. Craig began to follow the math, but he had to empty his mind of all human imagination, of all human instincts for what was logical. After he understood the center wall, he found he could work his way through the others, stubbornly evaluating and translating each set of symbols.
He had no idea how much time went by, but he noticed that his clothes got looser and started to hang on his now scrawny frame. His hair soon reached down to his shoulders. When Paul asked Craig if he was all right, if he was happy, he had no answer.
He was busy; he was doing what he was meant to do. Maybe that was happiness or even joy. He truly had no time or available space in his mind to contemplate such things.
Finally, Paul brought him a new case of Martian Dew just as he finished the final wall and entered his notes by hand into the scrapbooks Paul had given him to use.
“I’m done,ˮ Craig said, as he handed Paul the scrapbooks. “I haven’t produced any literary masterpiece or mathematical work of art like the aliens did, but I understand what they left as a message. Here is what I think they wanted to communicate.ˮ
“What is it?ˮ Paul asked. “Who are we dealing with?ˮ
“The creators of these symbols explain why they came to Mars, what they did here, and why they left,ˮ Craig said. “It’s fascinating, troubling, and instructive reading. We can learn a great deal from these travelers.ˮ
“So you think we should make this knowledge public?ˮ Paul asked.
“Absolutely, ˮ Craig said. “Tell everyone about these underground cities, and see what else you can discover here. The previous inhabitants are gone and won’t return. If we learn from them, their stay here won’t have been for nothing. That was what they worried about most.ˮ
Paul grabbed the scrapbooks, smiled, and literally danced out of the room.
Craig took a robot car back to his apartment where he sat down and fumbled with his communicator, following instructions. He had no regrets about keeping the last row of alien symbols to himself. The aliens specifically requested whoever translated their message to make itself, and itself alone, available for contact.
They only wanted to communicate with a trustworthy life form, a creature who could recognize, relate, and respond.
They would then take the next steps.