Existence (63 page)

“Translation error. Recall that they learned English from our own encyclopedias and wikis, where ‘competition’ is generally taken to involve physical activity—like war or sports or capitalism. That has to be it!”

“But Ben, our histories do contain clear examples of
missionary
expansionism that involved the spread of cultural memes, just as in this model. So surely they would know that our word ‘competition’ also applies to—”

“I’m certain it’s a simple glitch in meaning.” Flannery nodded, eagerly. “Together we’ll uncover it. Just keep at it, my friend, poking them from every angle.

“Anyway,” Ben continued. “It seems that we’ll soon have a lot more artifacts to work with. Even if all the ‘others’ now being recovered on Earth turn out to be too badly damaged, it should be fairly easy to find intact ones in space. Already there’s discussion of joint recovery expeditions. China is even talking about pulling its Big Cheng lifters out of mothballs. It really is important that we learn what
all
of these messenger probes have to say, before committing to anything!”

Gerald nodded, agreeably. Yet he had a cynical, private thought.

This, from the fellow who was in such an eager rush, only an hour ago, to join the Galactic Federation?

He had to admit that Ben’s model of rival cultures appeared feasible and plausible and fit most of the facts.

It was also somewhat depressing to picture the galaxy in this state—a petty, relentless struggle for cultural converts, spanning perhaps hundreds of millions of years and spilling across the sky, leaving little room for new thoughts, open ideas. To have to choose from just a dozen or so cultural norms … even from hundreds … well, who would find that a pretty picture?

Well, it beats being conquered by some oppressive, monolithic alien empire, I suppose. And some of the cultures may turn out to be impressive, marvelous, even awesome.

Still, he found the overall prospect stifling. And this sure did put an end to the great big dreams of youth—all those gaudy, wondrous visions of cruising the galaxy in starships.

Oh well. Too bad.

That cloud of gloom followed him to the men’s room and back. It hovered overhead as he conferred with Akana and the others about their next set of questions for the Artifact aliens.

Even as Gerald sat back down at the big table, checked his notes, and ordered the house lights dimmed, knowing that no human being in the history of his species ever had a bigger audience, he was still thinking about Ben Flannery’s model.

Just as he prepared to reconvene the question and answer session, Gerald realized.

I don’t believe that’s the explanation at all.

*   *   *

The Oldest Surviving Member still wore that beatific smile, hands folded across a broad belly that jiggled in a manner that struck Gerald as … well, jolly.

A virt glowed in the corner of Gerald’s percept. One of many that flowed in from the Advisers’ Gallery, got bounced from Hermes to Tiger, and then passed to Ramesh and Genady and the others on the Contact Team. This one had an especially high topic relevance score.

Several amsci-posses and Fourth Estate studios have studied this Oldest Member character and a slim majority conclude he’s a fake! A composite, formulated with elements of Buddha and Santa Claus and several other reassuring archetypes, drawn from our own mythology.

Several high-rated Post-its were attached to that first message.

Yes, but also look at the ninety or so aliens behind him! Many of them are twitching their hands and/or manipulator organs, or speaking, without turning toward each other. These motions reach a crescendo, seconds before the Oldest Member starts talking. Statistical analysis suggests they
may
be controlling him with some kind of consensus-based, command-averaging system. I bet he’s their presentation puppet!

Another replied, just as cogently.

So? Is that a bad thing? We demanded they come up with some shared way to talk to us. This is a logical solution. What bothers me is they didn’t tell us. That they believe this fooled us. Do they think we’d actually expect the most influential member of their society to just happen to be charmingly humanoid! What do they take us for?

One more gloss commentary lifted above the others.

Should we let them go on thinking that?

It came accompanied by a quick-vote of the contact committee, approved by Akana.

Yes, we should. At least till this hypothesis is confirmed.

Gerald nodded. Fine by him. His plate was already full of prioritized questions. It hardly mattered whether the jocund-looking figure in front of him was a simulation of a simulated being, or merely concocted to look like one.

Emily suggested calling this guy “O.M.” or “Om,” for short.

Sure, why not?

He leaned forward, speaking directly and clearly toward the Artifact.

“We wish to know more about the commonwealth or society that we have been invited to join,” he said. “So I have a list of questions.”

The Oldest Member’s smile only widened. Om bowed once, in clear readiness to answer.

“First,” Gerald asked, “is there a hierarchy of rights and privileges among you? One based upon age, perhaps? Can newcomers expect limitations, joining with relatively little knowledge?”

The emissary spread his hands apart, giving an impression of self-deprecating modesty.

The eldest can expect small gestures of respect but I am obviously not one to dominate others!

Om then brought both hands forward, palm-upward.

If you join us, expect the privileges of full membership from the very start.

Gerald wasted no attention for the murmur of satisfaction that arose, behind him. He hurried on to the next question.

“Will we gain immediate access to your society’s store of information, history, technologies, and other wisdom?”

Gerald almost held his breath. Here was where he expected Elder Races to waffle, to start talking about
rationing
. Some technologies would be too advanced or too dangerous for youngster-newcomers. It would have to be doled out, at a pace carefully determined by—

Yes.

Gerald blinked, surprised by the simplicity. On impulse, he ignored the agreed-upon queue of questions, to follow up.

“That’s it?

“You mean
all
of it? Right away?

Certainly. All of it. Why not?

“And what will be required of us, in exchange?” Gerald asked next. Many anxious discussions had flurried over the issue of payment, should the aliens ask for it. Would it be in the form of Earthling culture, music, literature, to be beamed to their homeworlds? Or in services? Or (according to Ben Flannery’s model) committing to a particular belief system?

Not that
quid pro quo
was unreasonable, in principle. But some members of the committee were mindful of the price of Manhattan Island.

In exchange, we ask nothing except that you act in your own self-interest maximizing your own potential to survive. To continue and to replicate down the ages of time. If you seek this, we shall help. We offer the means of survival.

A crescendo of virts pressed in from all sides. Excited comments and queries with high relevance scores, gisted from people or groups with peerless reputations. Each seemed to press a different aspect of the “survival” issue—some desperate matter that might be improved with alien science and methods.

Overcoming environmental damage to the planetary ecosystem.

Solving the water and energy shortages.

Decoding the riddle of life and disease.

Deciphering mysteries of the mind.

Resolving conflict and putting an end to violence.

Answers about God and salvation.

Confronting the riddle of death.

The lattermost had already been promised, enticingly. Now details appeared to be imminent.

But Gerald knew that it was too soon to get into specifics. Not wanting to play devil’s advocate, he still could not stop himself from following the pull of his own curiosity.

“But … aren’t you concerned that we might …
misuse
some of the most advanced…” Gerald noticed Akana shaking her head and motioning for him not to go there. But surely the thought was on everyone’s mind. “… That we might misuse some of the most advanced technologies?”

Such things happen. But the knowledge that we share should ensure your survival. And most of the problems that now vex you should vanish like a bad memory.

While most people reacted positively to that response, with smiles and sighs, Gerald caught a warning glance from Akana, not to diverge from the script again without consulting her. He nodded and cleared his throat, then spoke straight from the list.

“Please tell us about the federation of worlds that we are invited to join.”

Gerald saw his sentence enter the Artifact as a string of letters that divided and mutated into more than seven dozen different streams of characters, each zeroing in upon a different alien figure. At first Om—the Oldest Member—simply kept on smiling, as a rustle spread among the varied beings who stood, sat, squatted, perched, or lay behind him. But it quickly became apparent that something was different, this time.

The English version of Gerald’s question still floated, above the throng.

Please tell us about the federation of worlds that we are invited to join.

The creatures in the background were turning to one another, as if disturbed. Not angry or excited … perhaps
confused
was a better term. This soon manifested in the way that Om, standing up front, appeared to scratch the side of his head. The transcendent smile lapsed, somewhat.

Non sequitur. There is no federation of worlds.

Silence reigned in the Contact Center, and among the advisers behind the quarantine glass. It apparently prevailed far beyond, as well, since the storm of virts stopped whirling and trying to encroach from the periphery of Gerald’s percept. Most of them faded, as their authors lost interest. Or the glowing virtual messages dispersed like evaporating dew when ainalysis engines deemed them no longer top-relevant.

Gerald glanced at Ben Flannery, who nodded back at him. The Hawaiian anthropologist looked vindicated, yet saddened, as if he had hoped to be wrong. Alone on Earth, the two of them knew the likely alternative—the situation that prevailed out there
instead
of a federation.

Gerald made it the basis for an ad hoc question.

“Then please tell us about your loose interstellar affiliation of species—the alliance that dispatched you to share cultural values.”

Again, confusion caused a ripple among the ninety or so ersatz beings. This time they answered more swiftly through Om, whose expression seemed a bit irked.

There is no alliance or affiliation of species. I already told you this.

Gerald winced. It was the first time the alien envoy had rebuked him.

No you did not tell me that,
he thought.

Earlier you said there was no
“competition”
among species. You said that competition could never happen.

We took that to mean no war. Or no easy physical travel. Or both.

But this is something else. “Affiliation” is a mild and tepid-friendly word. It can stand for anything … including Ben’s loose culture groups.

And you say there isn’t even that?

Gerald’s heart was beating harder now, from involuntary surges of adrenaline. He did not want to follow where this was leading.

“But,” he began. “But we see an affiliation of many species before our eyes right now. Also, you refer to
we
and
us
and to
our community.…
”

This time the Buddha smile crept back and the Oldest Member spoke without waiting.

We do, indeed, have a community. One of peace and adventure! It offers you a wondrous opportunity for your survival. For exploration and perpetual existence.

Gerald felt an awful sense of realization that had been creeping upon him for some time. There was a basic misunderstanding that he now saw suddenly—one that had been rooted, all along, in a flaw in the English language.

No federation of
worlds
 … and no affiliation of
species.

That left only one possibility.

Without willing himself to do so, he stood up from his chair while facing the Artifact that he had pulled out of cold space.

He tapped himself on the chest.

“M—me?”

He had to swallow before continuing.

“All this time you were talking about … talking to …
me
?”

Naturally, given your importance. You and other leaders who make decisions and allocate resources.

It was all Gerald could manage, numbed by realization, to move on.

“Individuals,” he said, for clarification. “It’s not about worlds or species or societies, or even cultural groups, but
individual
entities?”

He could picture millions of libertarians, out there, having their
aha!
moment of joyous vindication. For as short as it would last.

How could it be otherwise? Yes, one individual at a time. Though as many as your overall survival plan and dedication will allow.

The Oldest Member’s smile was wide and angelic once again, beaming with generosity. But Gerald ignored that, just as he pushed aside the murmurs penetrating through the quarantine glass. His specs filled with a tornado of distractions, so he yanked them off as well, facing the moment bare-faced. Bare-eyed.

“Survival…,” he said, and pointed at the Artifact.

“You mean …
in there
?”

He was breathing hard and fought to slow down.