Existence

A depict seemed to erupt all around Gerald, immersing him in a slightly curved arc of small, dim specks- representing asteroids that ranged in size up to several hundred kilometers. Starting at the position of the ibn Battuta, a million or so klicks outward from Mars, the density of radar reflections rose steadily, peaking halfway to Jupiter’s orbit. He could both see and sense drifting lumps-carbonaceous, stony, and metallic-left over from the origin of the solar system. And if he focused on one, that patch of the Belt would zoom to any level of detail known by human science. So he was careful not to do that.

Jenny and Courier were still visible, among others in the observation lounge, as they watched the telescope’s giant petals finish unfolding, locking and adjusting swiftly into operational condition, performing calibration tests with aitomatic speed. But Gerald’s mind focused more on the depict data.

These visualization technologies just keep getting better. I feel as if I could just reach out with a finger and stir, sending all these asteroids tumbling…

At his subtle command, the ship-ai adjusted this simulation, causing all the natural rocks to fade, leaving some glitters-far fewer, but still numerous-that orbited mostly along the belt’s innermost rim. He recognized these without being told. Each pinpoint represented an interstellar message crystal-detected but, so far, not collected.

Had it really been just two dozen years since those little cylinders, blocks, and spheres were considered treasure, worth any risk to seek? Any cost to acquire? Leading an expedition to gather more “interstellar chain letters” had been Gerald’s high point as an astronaut. The samples that he and Akana and Emily and Genady managed to bring back had proved key components in a kind of inoculation-the tonic that helped rouse humanity from a bad case of worldwide contact panic.

Well. It helped rouse humanity partway. Renunciators, romantics, and fanatics of every stripe still stirred, along with the DUN League, insistently demanding that facilities be built to Download Us Now.

Collecting crystalline missionary-probes still had priority, especially to Ben Flannery and other alienists, refining their models of this galactic neighborhood-stretching a thousand light-years around Earth-pinpointing which species once lived near which star, and when each went through its own fever, building frantic factories and sneezing more space-viroids into space. Continuing to build that model was important work, and there were other reasons to gather more samples, but the desperate need had become less frantic.

He commanded those glitters to fade away as well. Leaving-

Earth vessels are noted in yellow.

That many? Gerald wondered. From coded patterns, he saw that at least two dozen had some kind of human crew. Smaller yellow dots denoted automatic survey drones, picking their way though the Belt, tracing clues and relics that increased in number, the farther into the rocky maze you went. Bits and broken pieces of antediluvian machinery that hinted at some past disaster. Forensic evidence of ancient crimes.

Or of war.

But what of shooters? Any FACR sites in range?

The defense ai answered.

If any remain, they are being circumspect, keeping hidden. They aren’t reacting to the new telescope. Odds of an attack are now estimated 4 percent. And plummeting.

Gerald exhaled, a sigh of letting go, both relieved and… well… a little disappointed. For one thing, it meant Genady had won their wager. Those lasers and particle beams-once deemed so frightening that the Marco Polo was called a suicide mission-were mostly gone, showing up only a few dozen times in the last couple of decades and only rarely attacking Earth vessels.

Had they mostly wiped each other out? Gorosumov thought they were from a completely separate era. They had nothing to do with the ancient War of the Machines.

Then why disappointment?

If any of the shooters were to attack us now, or even just speak up, we’re ready. We have methods, plans… and it might give us someone else to question. Someone other than the damned artilens.

The ship’s ai could tell these were normal, inner thoughts, not volition-driven questions or commands. So it kept silent. And when Gerald’s attention shifted, the depict-vista of asteroids, ships, and artifacts swiftly faded from his eyes.

He glanced at Jenny and Courier, who continued their benign argument. As much as he liked them both, Gerald had no desire to get snared into a family spat that always turned into another sales pitch.

Courier came across the stars to warn us against “liars.” Against alien space probes that had evolved ways to make intelligent races copy them and spew more viruses across the cosmos. And yes, Courier’s warning was helpful.

But what does he want us to do, now? Beyond building ever greater telescopes, to determine the fate of his homeworld? Why, he wants us to make more crystalline probes! Not billions, but certainly millions of them. And fire them off… to spread his warning!

Gerald turned to go. Now that deployment of the great instrument was finished-and no mystery lasers had been drawn into attacking-there were other matters to attend to. But irony seemed to follow as he walked along the circumference of the spinning centrifugal wheel.

Maybe that’s what we should do. Help the universe. Copy Courier and his probe millions of times. And add some human companions to every one. Joining him in a mission to inoculate and save other races from the sickness.

Gerald knew that he would be an easy candidate to serve as one of those human self-patterns, downloaded into crystal and hurled outward. Would that qualify as him, getting an astronaut’s dream assignment, an expedition to the stars? A mission of help and mercy and adventure. It was tempting, all right.

But when does a cure start to resemble the disease?

He wondered.

Did some of the other crystal-fomites begin their career-generations back-as warnings? Only, after a dozen or so races added members, did the inescapable logic of self-interest gradually change their message?

Sometimes, evolution was a bitch.

THE LONELY SKY

The story remains sketchy, but we can already guess some of what happened out here, long before humankind was even a glimmer.

Once upon a time, the first “Von Neumann type” interstellar probe arrived in our solar system. A large and complex machine, crafted according to meticulous design, it came to explore and perhaps report back across the empty light-years. That earliest emissary found no intelligent life on any of Sol’s planets. Perhaps it came before Earth life even crawled onto land.

So the machine envoy proceeded with its second task. It prospected a likely asteroid, mined its ready ores, then built factory works in order to reproduce itself. Finally, according to program, the great machine dispatched its duplicates toward other stellar systems.

The original then-its chief tasks done-settled down to watch, awaiting the day when something interesting might happen in this corner of space.

Time passed in whole epochs. And, one by one, new probes arrived, representing other civilizations. Each fulfilled its task without interference-there is plenty of room and a plethora of asteroids. Once their own replicas were launched, the newcomers joined a growing community of mechanical ambassadors to this backwater system-waiting for it to evolve someone interesting. Someone to say hello to.

Ponder the poignant image of those lonely machines, envoys of creator races who were perhaps long extinct-or evolved past caring about the mission they once charged upon their loyal probes. After faithfully reproducing, each emissary commenced its long watch, whiling away the slow turning of the spiral arms…

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