213: Chapter 213 The Encoded Thorns

The creation of "the wind on the mountain peak" hit its first major snag: how to "encode" abstract cosmic constants into audible sound elements that could naturally integrate with music without sounding stiff or like a tutorial recording?

Taylor tried directly converting the frequency corresponding to the speed of light (299792458) into sound, but the result was a piercing, near-silent sine wave of an extremely high pitch, completely devoid of beauty.

"This won't work," she said, dejectedly turning off the synthesizer.

"It sounds like an equipment malfunction, not art. Besides, if there really are any 'listeners' out there, do they even use decimal systems and Hertz?"

Alex looked up from a pile of books on information theory and semiotics.

"Maybe our approach is wrong. Instead of 'playing' the numbers directly, we should use the 'relationships' or 'ratios' represented by the numbers to generate the underlying structure of the music. For example, could a certain ratio between the speed of light and the Planck constant determine the basic intervals of a harmonic sequence? Or, we could use the digits after the decimal point of pi to determine the rhythmic variation of notes in a melody. Let it be the 'invisible skeleton' of the music, rather than the 'visible skin'."

"Let math be the grammar, not the vocabulary..." Taylor said, lost in thought.

"It's like how Bach used rigorous mathematical ratios to construct fugues, yet what you hear is emotion, not arithmetic. Okay, let's try this direction."

She began collaborating with a programmer at the "Flashpoint" lab who specialized in algorithmic composition to develop a small tool.

By inputting a set of selected constants and proportional relationships, the tool would generate a series of adjustable pitch sequences, rhythmic patterns, or harmonic progression suggestions based on these mathematical relationships.

Taylor would then filter and adjust them to find fragments that both adhered to the mathematical "signature" and possessed auditory beauty and expressiveness.

It was a delicate and time-consuming task, often requiring hours of work at the computer just to find a few seconds of suitable "skeleton."

But Taylor enjoyed it; she called it "dancing with the secret laws of the universe."

Meanwhile, the draft of the internal risk assessment for Team K's "active listening" experiment reached Alex.

The draft was extremely detailed and had considered almost every conceivable aspect.

Technical risks: The possibility that the act of transmission itself could be captured and misjudged as an "attack" or "provocation" (Assessment: extremely low, due to weak signal strength and the absence of modulated aggressive patterns).

The possibility of the signal inadvertently interfering with other human or known cosmic exploration activities (Assessment: negligible, as the frequency and direction were specially selected).

Ethical risks: The legitimacy of sending information in the name of "human civilization" without achieving a consensus of all mankind (which is clearly impossible).

The draft cited precedents like the Pioneer plaque and the Voyager Golden Record, but acknowledged that this action was more abstract and in the nature of an "artistic manifesto," making its representativeness questionable.

Philosophical risks: Does this act violate the scientific principle of "silent observation"?

Is it a manifestation of anthropocentrism or cultural arrogance?

Could it give the green light to more reckless "active contact" attempts in the future?

Symbolic risks: If the signal were actually received and understood by some unknown existence (a slim possibility), would its content accurately represent the complex face of human civilization?

Or would it merely reflect the specific perspective of a few planners?

The draft did not offer a conclusion but rather listed arguments for and against.

Proponents argued that this was a courageous expression of human curiosity and creative spirit, a non-utilitarian, purely aesthetic, and intellectual practice that embodied an elegant gesture of a civilization, having matured to a certain degree, proactively sending a "declaration of friendly existence" into the universe.

Opponents argued that in a state of complete ignorance about the external environment, any active output was an irresponsible adventure, and we should maintain absolute silence until we have sufficient understanding of potential "neighbors."

Alex was stunned by the depth and seriousness of the draft.

This was no longer a romantic notion but a decision that required taking real (even if minor) responsibility.

He shared the draft with Taylor as well.

After reading it, Taylor was silent for a long time.

"I had no idea... there was so much to think about," she said softly.

"I was just immersed in the excitement of creation before."

"This is what responsible exploration should look like," Alex said, holding her hand.

"It's not about acting on a whim, but seeing all possible consequences, no matter how distant they may seem. And then, making a choice."

"What about your choice?" Taylor looked at him.

"I'm still thinking," Alex admitted honestly.

"The risk is indeed minimal, but the symbolic significance is immense. We need to be sure that what we send is truly the message we want to speak on behalf of humanity. This requires our 'information package' to be perfect, standing up not just artistically and scientifically, but also ethically and philosophically. This might mean our preparation time will be much longer than expected, or even... we might ultimately decide not to send it."

Taylor nodded, her expression becoming solemn.

"I understand. If we are going to do it, it must be beyond reproach. If we find halfway through that we cannot bear this weight, then we stop. At the very least, the process of creating "the wind on the mountain peak" itself has already given me unprecedented insights into music, science, and human existence. That is already a priceless harvest."

The two reached a consensus: continue to deepen the creation of "the wind on the mountain peak," using it as an ultimate exercise in thought and art.

As for whether to send it, that decision would be left until the work was completed and they felt at peace with all the risk assessments.

This decision lightened the pressure on their shoulders, but the goal of their creation became even more pure and lofty.

Good news came from Marcus: the first draft of the case study for the Seattle community garden was complete.

It not only detailed the technical solutions and feedback data but also specifically included short interviews with Layla and several residents, recounting their feelings and stories.

This report, full of human touch, received a very good response within the circle of early adopters of "sensory empathy design."

"Several community organizations from other cities have contacted us, not to say 'we want this tool,' but to ask, 'we have a similar problem here, can we chat and see how your methods can help us think?'" Marcus said, his tone excited over the phone.

"We seem to have stumbled upon a new model of collaboration: not providing ready-made products, but providing a framework for thinking and a collaborative process for 'problem reframing.' This is much cooler than just selling tools!"

"Because this touches the core of the problem," Alex said.

"Many problems in public spaces are essentially problems of how different groups of people can share them. Technology can assist, but the real solution starts with mutual understanding and searching for solutions together. What we provide is a 'catalyst' and 'scaffolding' that promotes this understanding and searching. Organize your processes and thinking tools into a clearer 'Community Empathy Design Process Guide' as soon as possible, and share it out."

"Understood!" Marcus was full of energy.

"We are working on it. By the way, Layla and the community committee also want to invite Taylor. If she has the chance to come to Seattle, could she do a small themed improvised performance at the square? Unplugged, just the kind where she interacts with the environment using her guitar. They feel that Taylor's musical philosophy aligns very well with this project."

Alex relayed the invitation to Taylor.

Taylor had just looked up from a complex algorithmically generated melody.

Hearing this, she thought for a moment and smiled.

"That sounds very warm. After I finish this 'cosmic-level' project on my hands, maybe I can go. Playing music in a real community, with real people and the real wind, should be a great way to relax and also a great source of inspiration."

Life and creation, the grand and the subtle, once again formed a beautiful loop.

While conceiving verses for the starry sky, she had not forgotten the invitation from a community garden on Earth.

Alex stood in front of the study window, looking at the faint mountain shadows in the distance.

Creation moved forward through thorns, risks were examined in the mirror, and some small patterns for how to live together better were quietly sprouting in the real soil.

All of this required time, patience, a clear mind, and a warm heart.

And perhaps this was the most real and reliable way to walk toward the stars while keeping one's feet on the ground.

He returned to his desk and opened a book on information ethics.

To understand the risks of speaking to the stars, perhaps one must first understand more deeply how we speak to ourselves and to each other.

The night was still long, and the road was long as well.