Existence

64.

LAMINATIONS

There were times when I thought I’d never make it back out here.

Gerald Livingstone gazed from the observation blister of the research vessel, Abu Abdullah Muhammad ibn Battuta. Here, it was easy to lose yourself in starry vistas. The view reminded him of those long ago years that he once spent as a garbage collector, with only a little capuchin monkey for company, swinging his teleoperated lariat, cleaning up the mess in Earth orbit. Back there and then, his homeworld used to take up half the sky and the sun was a mighty flame.

Way out here, old Sol was smaller. And if you squinted carefully, you might glimpse the tiny reddish disc of Mars. As for the opposite direction-

I’d need optics to discern any nearby rocks. By sight alone, you’d never guess we’re near the asteroid belt.

Still, I’ve been privileged to see more than my ancestors ever did, or most living people.

He understood the allure of an offer that was still on the table. For humanity to invest in crystal-making factories and vast guns to hurl pellets across space. Pellets “crewed” by replicated aliens, plus an added complement of copied human beings. As time passed, his joints stiffened and his arteries gradually hardened, Gerald couldn’t help thinking about it.

To waken in such a realm-one that’s tiny on the outside, but vast within, filled with wonders to explore, and eons yet to live. To converse with beings from dozens of planets and cultures, to hear their songs, try their amusements, and share their dreams. And eventually…

One valuable result of the Marco Polo-and subsequent voyages by the Temujin and Hong Bao, had been some variety of emissary artifacts to choose among, including some whose makers spent extra on cultural and scientific info-storage, providing more-than-minimal data about cultures and peoples out there. Civilizations that were now almost certainly long vanished.

If we do set up factories to make interstellar egg-probes, I hope we’ll use those, for models. Fewer, but higher quality. It’s not the virus way. Perhaps it will be the human way.

But Gerald’s role in such matters had faded, since those dangerous days when he and Akana Hideoshi stole the Havana Artifact from under the noses of the oligarchs. A temporary theft that was forgiven, because it led to the first Great Debate-the crucial one, between the Havana artilens and Courier of Caution. The disputation that taught humanity a vital lesson.

We have some choice. And there is still some time.

Speaking of Courier, wasn’t he supposed to be here, by now?

Others drifted into the observation dome, as the hour of First Light approached. Scientific staff and members of the ibn Battuta crew clustered in hushed conversation, peering and pointing toward the high-northwest octant, where it all would happen. Nobody came near Gerald.

Is my pensive mood so obvious? And when did I become a “historical figure” who people are afraid to bother?

Not afraid. They held back out of polite respect, perhaps. Especially new arrivals, coming to use the now finished facility; many seemed a bit awed…

… though not, he noted, the brilliant young astronomer, Peng Xiaobai-or Jenny to her friends-who glanced over at Gerald, offering a brief, dazzling smile.

Hmm. If I weren’t an elderly queer with fragile bones… Gerald had to admit, he relished the harmless, indulgent way Jenny flirted with him. Just be careful. Courier seems rather protective of the daughter of his oldest living human friend.

And think of the devil. Here he was, at last-everyone’s favorite alien-gliding into the chamber along one of the utility tracks that lined the bulkhead. Courier of Caution waited for the trolley to come to a stop, then let go. His new, globelike robo-body then drifted toward Gerald, propelled by soft puffs of compressed nitrogen.

Funny how he chose the simplest possible design. Just a mobility unit to carry him around the ship. No manipulator arms or input-output jacks. I suppose after thousands of years locked in crystal, he got used to just one way of interfacing with the world, through words and images.

This particular copy of Courier of Caution had been imprinted into a cube, almost a meter on each side-one of humanity’s first experiments in utilizing alien simulation-tech. There were already attempts to upload some human minds, though what to do with the technique was still hotly debated.

Courier had other copies, of course. And with each duplication, the extraterrestrial envoy modified his simulated appearance, stretching the four-piece mouth that many found disturbing, into something more humanlike. And the ribbonlike vision strip now resembled something like a pair of earthly eyes. The voice was already adapted completely. Whether Chinese, English, or any other tongue, Courier now spoke like a native.

“I am here, Gerald. Sorry to have delayed matters. Now we can begin.”

Good old Courier. Everything is always about you, isn’t it?

Back in the old days, Gerald might have glanced at his wrist phone to tell time, or grunt-queried for a pop-up clock to appear inside his contaict lens. Now, he simply knew, to whatever accuracy required, how much time remained until First Light.

“You caused no delay. We have another minute,” he told this version of the alien entity who had crossed so many parsecs, coming down to Earth in a blaze of fire and luck, to pass along an ancient warning.

“Come. I saved you a spot.”

THE LONELY SKY

How can the universe seem both crowded and empty at the same time? Let’s start by returning to those scholars and theoreticians of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries.

Experts were already casting doubt on an old dream-interstellar empire. If organic beings like us ever managed to voyage between stars, it would be through prodigious, exhausting effort. A tenacious species here and there might colonize a few dozen worlds with biological descendants. Even perhaps a small corner of the Milky Way. But hardly enough to dent the Fermi Paradox.

Most organics would stay home.

What of machines? Designed to “live” in space, requiring no supplies of air, food, or water and oblivious to time, robots might stand the tedium and dangers of interstellar flight. Launched toward a neighboring system and forgotten as they crossed the Great Vacuum Desert.

Even if they travel far below lightspeed, can’t a mature, long-lived culture afford to wait millennia for fascinating data about other worlds? Our universe seems to school patience.

But even for probes, the galaxy is awfully big. It’s one thing to send a few sophisticated machines, capable of self-repair, performing scientific observations at a few nearby systems and transmitting data home… and quite another to launch probes toward every site of interest! That could impoverish a civilization.

What was needed? Some way to get more out of the investment. A lot more.

– Tor Povlov

65.

LURKERS

Greeter is right. One of the humans seems to be on track.