Existence

crystal seemed to balk, preferring to spew denunciations than cooperate-answering humanity’s questions in a systematic way, neither stone wanting to hang lower than the other.

At every setback, Bin would shrug and nod, as if absolutely sure that everything was going to work out. As if the top scientists and experts and brahmin-boffins that he now got to work with worried way too much. What? his smile seemed to say-especially after his family was brought to join him. You think this is dangerous or hard?

In fact, Bin nearly always turned out to be right. Especially when Gerald, Emily, and Akana returned from their first expedition with more intact capsules. Forced to compete for human attention, they began undercutting each other, and even telling the truth. At least, part of it.

Jenny radiated that kind of confidence now. Her animated penguin-a longtime family motif-seemed to hop with excitement amid the two-dimensional folds of Jenny’s sweatshirt.

“Charged and ready, sir. First target should enter the zone in… ninety seconds.”

That soon?

As he grew older, time seemed to move in fits and starts. Or maybe it had always been like that. He just begrudged it more, nowadays. Gerald realized with some bemusement that almost an hour had past since the ibn Battuta peeled open to reveal its hidden cargo. Gerald commanded his body to let go of tension. To inhale. Exhale.

We’re about to take our first step. Is it really down a road of our own choosing? A unique solution, as Ben Flannery calls it? Or is that just a delusion, as great as the one that infected Courier’s folk? One that will finally take us down the same dismal path as every other Infected Race?

Hiram moaned, but not unhappily. “The first sails are deploying right on schedule,” Ika translated, while twitching to make some adjustments. “Jenny, you may fire along the prearranged sequence. I’ll stop you if any of the probes need more time.”

“Thank you, Ika. Preparing the first propulsive pulse in five, four, three, two…”

When it happened, hardly anything was visible in the real world, except a faint glimmer as one spread-open photon sail took its first meal. Ten thousand square meters of atom-thick film accepted several gigawatts of raw, coherent light from the Big Eye-less concentrated than the cutting weapon-beam of a few days ago, but more than potent enough to drive the sail-and its tiny cargo-outward for five minutes of hard push, to begin its journey.

We’ll be doing this most nights till the ibn Battuta goes home. Adding little shoves to all sixty-four probes-ten minutes here, half an hour there-as much as we can manage without making the scientists suspicious. Without letting word get back to Earth. Without letting the space viruses know what we’re doing. Not yet.

Well, after all, who would suspect? However impressive the space telescope seemed, the laser beam it emitted was many orders of magnitude too weak to propel anything like the Havana Artifact. These sails were small and crude, by galactic standards. Their crystal cargoes miniature and overspecialized, able to carry a bare minimum crew of simulated personalities. It was the best humanity could do, right now, cribbing from alien blueprints, building them from scratch and carefully cleansing them of embedded alien agendas. Far from ready to launch on interstellar missions.

But good enough for something much nearer. A goal within reach. An experiment worth making.

The beam cut off. The faint glitter of sail reflections faded, and that probe was left to coast, tacking on the faint push of mere sunlight.

Okay, that’s one. On its way to a special stretch of “empty” space between Uranus and Neptune. A realm that may contain something we desire. Good hunting, my virtual friends.

And if these first envoys did not find treasure there?

There are other domains rich with possibility, farther out. They might offer what humanity-what the living Earth-needs above all else.

“Ready for number two,” Jenny announced as component petal-mirrors of the Donaldson-Chang Array shifted slightly under her guidance, re-aiming toward another gossamer sail. “Preparing for propulsive pulse in five, four…”

And so it went for the next few hours. After the fortieth deployment went without a hitch, Gerald started to relax. Maybe this will work… and we won’t get caught.

Not that the consequences of exposure would be awful. A minor scandal. This wasn’t even illegal-Gerald and his co-conspirators were fully empowered to try whatever measures they saw fit, in seeking a way out of the fomite-trap. Still, there were reasons-good ones-for violating the modern moral code against secrecy.

We’re at war, after all. In a strange but real way. With a universe that seems bent on crushing every hope. It makes sense to keep the enemy in the dark for as long as possible.

A cheery thought.

Yet, Gerald felt content. If anything in the world gave him joy, it was to be surrounded by competence. These three young people, Jenny, Ika, and Hiram-representing three of the five subspecies of Man-exuded so much of it that he felt awash in pride.

Every decent father wants his children to be better than him. These are my kids, as much as if they sprang from my loins. And they are so much better than I ever was.

At this rate… if we keep improving… then goddamn the Fates and every single thing that’s “written.”

THE LONELY SKY

Lurker Challenge Number Nine

Let’s say you’ve monitored our TV, radio, Internet-and you haven’t answered because you’re meddling in ways you think beneficial. If so, please consider what happened to our civilization, the last few generations.

* * *

We spent the first half of the twentieth century plunging into simpleminded doctrines-from communism and fascism to nationalism, fundamentalism, collectivism, oligarchy, and solipsistic individualism-as passionately as other eras clutched their cults. Was this partly your doing? Or an adolescent phase you could only watch us endure like a fever? Either way, it damn near killed us.

The twentieth’s second half was also turmoil, with swerves into wrath and razor-edged risk. Yet we evaded that Third World War. And gradually, ideological incantations lost some of their grip. Instead, multitudes started adopting pragmatic ways to allow give-and-take among complex citizens.

Our media filled with messages promoting diversity, eccentricity, and suspicion of authority. And while varied forms of hate still fill many hearts, hatred itself acquired an odor.

Mass media rushed to cover bad events and countless dramas finger-wagged at human obstinacy-while making billions off mass audiences who paid to be guilt-tripped. Amid an illusion that things were getting worse, per capita poverty, violence and oppression plummeted. And so we advance with grinding slowness that leaves each utopian spirit angry. Perhaps too slowly to save us! Still, progress.

Did you help bring this about? If so, thanks. We grasp why you might conceal your role. Proud children like to think they accomplished something, all by themselves.

* * *

On the other hand, perhaps you find recent events puzzling. Do you have some favorite dogma or formula that should be right for us? That worked for your species, and now you push it “for our good”? Have you been doing that for years? Generations? Won’t you reconsider?

Nearly all we’ve accomplished lately came by abandoning recipes and incantations. Embracing our complexity. Look up emergent properties and the positive sum game. Then join discussions (see Challenge #5). Be patient, persistent, to better understand our perplexing natures.