Existence

new probe. Some just replicate their king or queen, over and over in all the copies they make. A few use lotteries or sell tickets or choose their “best” by local criteria.

Some try to be fair by assigning one copy to each person then alive. Naturally we like that approach since it leads to many more copies being made!

Each individual who is copied into a probe gets to continue… but it is at the NEXT site that great rewards are reaped.

When another planetary culture is found and helped to make new batches of copies each of us is reborn many million-fold!

By my best estimate, there may be trillions upon trillions of copies of me, now extant across the galaxy. Over time, you may be able to make that claim, as well!

The expression of satisfaction seemed so pure-so smug-that Gerald began to doubt the theory that Om was just a consensus puppet for the others. The Oldest Surviving Member’s pride was obvious. Blatant. Assured.

That can be your destiny, as well. Good outcomes for those who participate and replicate. Oblivion for those who break the chain. Join us!

There followed more. Words rolled out, accompanied by illustrations, amounting to what was now obviously a sales pitch-describing how luxuriously unlimited were the simulated environments that such crystalline homes could provide. How this lineage of probes was among the oldest and best around, with an unbeaten track record of getting itself copied and dispersed and recopied yet again!

It reminded Gerald of an extended infomercial for an oceanic cruise line-one embarking on an infinite voyage. He tried to follow that thought, but a rustle surged among the members of the contact team. Several of them could be heard to gasp aloud.

Gerald glanced at Akana, who motioned urgently for him to put his specs back on.

When he did so, he saw, superimposed upon reality, the face of the Chinese member of the contact team, Haihong Ming.

“My government has heard from the Xian Academy of Artful Illusion, which just spent two hours analyzing those images we saw earlier this afternoon, depicting the Artifact’s departure from the planet of the bat- helicopter people.

“Professor Wu Yan and his colleagues managed to amplify the flicker-moment, just as this pellet was launched upon its lengthy journey from its homeworld toward our own.”

Gerald’s specs darkened, immersing him once again within the galactic night, with the planet of Low-Swooping Fishkiller in the distance and the orbiting factory, manufacturing a long line of crystalline envoys-interstellar chain letters-visible much closer in the foreground view. Closest of all was a long conveyor belt carrying fresh, new pellets to the breech of a long mass-driver cannon. The titanic artillery piece was about to fire this probe on the beginning of its epic voyage toward a certain yellow sun.

“Notice how the spacesuited figures are starting to turn away and look below,” continued Haihong Ming. “As they notice bright objects converging toward the factory.”

Gerald did remember that… and briefly wanting to ask about it, till other matters intervened. Now, in much slower motion, he could see several of the batlike beings swivel again-as if to flee-while others simply froze, as if staring at inevitability. Bright streaks approached. Other glowing trails could be seen farther away, arcing to crisscross above the planet.

Oh, no.

The cannon fired-a burst of rising, concentric brilliance that seized the cameralike point of view, sending it streaking along the rails, leaving the blue-brown world behind at an accelerating rate.

Only now, fantastically slowed. The Chinese image analysts had managed to eke out the equivalent of three final frames, still encompassing the planet and manufacturing facility.

And Gerald presently made out something fell and deadly, that had previously been masked by the cannon’s blazing burst of electromagnetic thrust.

Detonations. Unmistakably atomic. One of them-the nearest-was just starting to consume the factory in a wave of violence that would barely fail to prevent the pellet’s escape. It seemed doubtful that any later probes would get away. Certainly none of the makers did.

“The bat civilization must have survived this round of violence,” Haihong Ming explained. “Because later they did send the promised beam of charged particles, to further accelerate the probe. But it took them many decades to recover enough to do so.

“And the beam did not last long.”

Gerald removed the specs again, this time to rub his eyes.

At least, that was what others saw him do. He managed to keep anybody-no matter how well equipped-from noticing the tears.

When he looked up again, he knew what he had to ask the Artifact entities. Though it took him a few seconds to focus on the Oldest Member and to gather his voice.

“What about your homes!”

He spoke sharply-almost a shout-in order to break the sales pitch, not caring if Om looked peeved over being interrupted.

“The planets and species and civilizations that each of you came from. Does this Artifact also contain information about them?”

The stout alien did not smile.

Some.

“They interest us, most of all. We want to know about them.”

It is not a topic that we recommend pursuing. At this phase in particular.

But Gerald was insistent.

“You said earlier that your home species had never met. That made no sense when we envisioned some sort of galactic federation. Now I must ask you straight. Up front.”

Gerald glanced at his team mates, at Emily and Genady and Ramesh and Patrice and Terren and Ben… and Akana, whose face was gaunt and pale. She gave a jerky nod.

“How can that be?” Gerald continued. “Why have they never met?”

Om remained reluctant.

Asking will not increase your happiness.

At this, Gerald gritted his teeth. He no longer wanted any part of fame, for discovering this thing. All he felt was cold fury. A need, at last, for some truth.

“Tell us,” he insisted. “Or we’ll put you in a dark box and go find others who will answer.

“Tell us now!”

The ninety-two alien occupants of a crystalline pocket universe murmured among themselves. Faces grimaced. Claws and tentacles clenched, and Gerald felt suddenly certain.

It isn’t for our sakes that they avoid this topic. But for their own.

Because of pain.

The fat avatar that represented them all now looked anything but jolly. The Oldest Surviving Member gave a shrug that might have been copied from some Earthling gesture, but the air of resignation-even cruel indifference- seemed all too real.

None of our home species still live. Having flared briefly, all are gone. Individuals may last! In this form we fill the cosmos and live forever. So can you!

But sapient species don’t endure. No civilizations. Nor planets that spawn them.

Then the entity took a step closer to the boundary and added-

What? You thought yours would survive?

PART SIX