Existence

HAMISH BROOKEMAN:… Right… I was tricked into it. My own vanity-

NOLAN BRILL: An appealingly convoluted plot, Mr. Brookeman! One of many paranoid romps you’ve enchanted us with, over the years. But first, let’s bring in Jonamine Bat Amittai, compiler of Pandora’s Cornucopia, and world authority on doomsday scenarios. She joins us from Ramallah.

JONAMINE BAT AMITTAI: Thanks for letting me participate over this scratchy twodee connection. I couldn’t reach your Jerusalem studio, with the Megiddo riots spreading and so many factions battling over the Temple Mount-

NOLAN BRILL: Well, we’re glad you’re safe. Heck I barely reached Newark this morning! Part of the same mania. Do you think we’re tumbling into a “things fall apart” scenario?

JONAMINE BAT AMITTAI: Could be, Nolan. Though let’s recall, good trends oppose bad ones. There’s a worldwide counter-tide represented by the UCG, the Betsby Society, the Alliance for Civil Negotiation, and so on. All aim for calm discourse-

NOLAN BRILL: Well now, who’d reckon a doom-gloom expert would be today’s optimist! But you rest a moment, after your harrowing escapade. Our final guest is the inimitable Professor Noozone, presentator of Master Your Universe, and evidently one of the elite sci- conspirators trying to convince us alien crystals are real, and we should listen when they forecast Judgment Day. Go easy on the patois today, will you brudder?

PROFESSOR NOOZONE: Ho ho, my mon Nolanbrill. Praises to Jah and Wa’ppu to all viewers an’ lurkers, on Earth an’ in space. But no-o, I don’ think the world is ending, jus’ cause some zutopong simulated con artists fall from space to vank on us.

NOLAN BRILL: You say the Artifact beings are real, that they should be heeded… but not trusted?

PROFESSOR NOOZONE: Hey, I grok when a mon preten’ to be a ginnygog, in order to mess wit’ our heads. These space-virus puppets, dey got an agenda. Maybe not good-up for us. Time for care, zeen? For caution an’ scientific detachment. But that don’ mean alien stones ain’t real, mon. People sayin’ that must be smokin’ sour ganja, or else be bloodclotty liars-

HAMISH BROOKEMAN: Hey now just a-

NOLAN BRILL: What about the latest news? In parallel to the E.U.’s sci-tech control measure, U.S. Senator Crandall Strong introduced an urgent quick-bill calling for the Havana Artifact to be put under protective custody by an international commission of wise private citizens, tucking it away till things settle-

PROFESSOR NOOZONE: Which could be forever! Anyway, we all know that senator-mon has ulteriors. He gettin’ a world of bodderation from the new Union of Calm Grownups. They be pushin’ to recall him from office, on account of how he’s a bandulu and a self-druggie indignation addict! Criminalize that and the world would so-change.

Anyway, when it comes to dem alien stones, kill-mi-dead if our real solution isn’ in the opposite direction!

NOLAN BRILL: But Professor, hasn’t our exposure to alien ideas proved traumatic? Wouldn’t it make sense to subject people to less influence?

PROFESSOR NOOZONE: Nolan there be two ways that societies react to new an’ strange ideas. First wit fear. Dey suppose average folk be tainted or led astray. Bad notions warpin’ fragile minds. Better let priests an’ lords guard em from unapproved thoughts. Dat approach was followed by most human cultures.

The other way of lookin’ is hopeful dat folks can deal with the new! Homo sapiens be an adaptable species. Change don’t got to terrify. Courage be transforming mere people-subjects into righteous citizens. Dat second way of lookin’ may be mistaken! But I be loyal to it, all de way to death an’ Babylon.

In fact, our big-up goal should be the fix that ended all de old obeah superstitions that darkened de lives of our ancestors. More light!

Want more truth than de Havana aliens been tellin’? Then get more stones, not less! As teenagers say-Duh?

60.

SHARDS OF SPACE

Dozens of crystal fragments lay across a broad table and several shelves, bathed in sun-colored lamps. All seemed to glow.

Some were mere clusters of chips, held together by rocky crusts. Any further cleaning would leave slivers or piles of sand. Others, more nuggetlike, featured knobs or jagged protuberances-recently washed free of stony dross. In a few cases, there remained almost half a cylinder or egg, though scratched, gouged, and missing chunks.

Lacey wanted to stroke the specimens, fashioned by strange hands near faraway stars. It reminded her of a memorable evening when she and Jason strolled the Tower of London without chattering tourists or press-cams, when every display cabinet lay open for fifteen trillie families to fondle ancient regalia. (Well, rank hath privileges.) But mere baubles like rubies and emeralds never drew her as these shards did-gems of knowledge.

Well… gems of persuasion. Isn’t that what jewels are about?

“We feed them energy while lasers scan, trying every angle to excite holographic memories,” explained Dr. Ben Flannery, who seemed almost giddy, now that the quarantine glass was gone, letting advisors and commissioners mingle at last.

He shouldn’t make assumptions. This may be prelude to a deeper quarantine. There were reported changes in security arrangements for the Contact Center. U.S. Navy guards were being replaced by men in black uniforms, without insignia.

“Is this all the stone fragments gathered in the field? Weren’t there hundreds of micro-quakes, from buried crystals calling attention to themselves?”

“Yes, but most were too deep for recovery. Twenty recent samples are undergoing cleaning. Others have been clung to by nations and private collectors attempting to study them apart, in defiance of Resolution 2525. The World Court will be busy for years. And we’ll never hear about fragments dug up secretly, gone straight from ground to hidden labs.”

Lacey kept a dour thought to herself.

That might be a good thing. With Rupert and Tenskwatawa setting up their “Wisdom Council,” pulling all strings to get it put in charge here. If they succeed… and ai models say they will… then all alien objects could be locked up and space missions canceled. “For public safety.” That’ll leave just fragments, tucked away from their clutches.

Lacey no longer received briefings from the clade of trillionaires and her spy at the Glaucus-Worthington household hadn’t reported in days. This must be it-her long expected demotion from the oligarchy. Lacey had few regrets. Still, it wasn’t enjoyable joining ten billion commoners.

She took solace in a grim thought. Any war on science can go both ways.

Do they dare to trust their boffin hirelings-any of whom might suddenly declare loyalty to the Fifth and Ninth and Tenth estates? Sure, current odds favor their aristocratic putsch. But things could go badly for them, if their inner plottings leak. Or if some new factor eases public panic, replacing it with confidence. Or fascination.

“Have any pieces responded to your probes?” asked a simtech expert from Xian.

“They all respond to an extent. Here’s a complete archive of reactions, so far.” The fair-headed Hawaiian anthropologist waved in midair, as if his hand held something. Lacey flipped down her ai- shades, saw a shimmering virt-cube, and click-forwarded a copy to her chief analyst.