Existence

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.

“You mean inside that crystal cylinder… That is where it all would happen? That’s where you’re offering survival and life everlasting?”

No! Misunderstanding!

Om shook the pudgy head with an indulgent smile.

Let me clarify: Not just in this cylinder, of course. What a cramped “survival” that would be!

The corpulent entity appeared to chuckle in amusement over such silliness…

… and Gerald heard Emily shudder a sigh of relief.

A premature sigh. A presumptuous one.

Not just in this cylinder. But in MILLIONS like it! Perhaps hundreds of millions if you are ambitious, prudent, and resourceful.

We shall teach you how to build them. And how to fill each one with our duplicates. Ninety-two… plus a ninety-third! A chosen persona from your own race to enter each capsule. To join a community of perseverance, endurance, replication, and survival! And we will show you how to send them forth, like seeds, across the great black sky.

Gerald contemplated how wrong he had been. Those earlier stunned pauses had not been “silences.”

This was silence.

Nobody spoke. It seemed that no one could even breathe. Gerald was certain that shocked soundlessness pervaded the entire Earth.

Until Genady Gorosumov uttered the one phrase that would become more famous than any other.

“It’s a goddamned chain letter!”

* * *

Gerald glanced sourly at his Russian friend who had, after all, only stated the obvious. Still, Genady might have spared the world some pain by waiting a few more seconds-by letting the paralysis stretch on a while longer, allowing some people to cling to their illusions. Any illusion at all.

He looked to his left. Professor Flannery wore a dazed expression. Ben’s clever model of competing missionary probes still had some validity, but it applied to a situation even less palatable than “rival cultural memes.”

Sorry, Ben.

For the first time, the alien emissary did not wait for a question, but proceeded to speak on its own.

A hundred and twelve species have participated so far in this particular line. Ninety-two of us still thrive in here.

Whenever a new race joins the community, it selects one individual of its kind to be copied into each