Existence

object.”

Tor nodded. That row showed the Mother Probe arriving once again, but this time amidst a crowd of quite different machines, each accompanied by a glyph like a crisscross tong sign. In that sequence the Mother Probe didn’t make replicates. Nor did she seed a planet. Her fuel used up, unable to flee the system, she found a place to hide behind the star, far from the others.

“She’s afraid of them.”

Tor expected Gavin to accuse her of anthropomorphizing, but her partner was silent, thoughtful. Finally, he nodded. “I think you’re right.”

He pointed. “Look how each of the little cross or circle symbols subtly vary.”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding and sitting forward on the gently humming drone. “Let’s assume there were two basic types of Von Neumann probes loose in the galaxy, when this drawing was made. Two contrary philosophies, perhaps. And within each camp there were differences, as well.”

She gestured to the far right end of the wall. That side featured a column of sketches, each depicting a different variety of machine, every one with its own cross or circle symbol. Next to each was a pictograph.

Some of the scenes were chilling.

Gavin shook his head, obviously wishing he could disbelieve. “But why? Von Neumann probes are supposed to… to…”

“To what?” Tor asked softly, thoughtfully. “For years people assumed that other races would think like us. We figured they would send out probes to gather knowledge, or maybe say hello. There were even a few who suggested that we might someday send out machines like this Mother Probe, to seed planets with human colonies, without forcing biologicals to suffer the impossible rigors of interstellar space. Those were extrapolations we thought of, once we saw the possibilities in John Von Neumann’s great idea. We expected the aliens who preceded us in the galaxy would do the same.

“But that doesn’t exhaust even the list of human motivations, Gavin. There may be concepts other creatures invented which to us would be unimaginable!” She stood up suddenly and drifted above the dusty floor before feeble gravity finally pulled her down in front of the chiseled wall. Her gloved hand touched the outlines of a stone sun.

“Let’s say that long ago a lot of planetary races evolved like we did on Earth, and discovered how to make smart, durable machines capable of interstellar flight and replication. Would all such species be content just to send out emissaries?”

Gavin looked around at the silent, still mummies. “Apparently not,” he sniffed.

Tor turned and smiled. “In recent years most of us gave up on the old dream of sending our biological selves to the stars. Oh, it’d be possible, marginally, but why not go instead as creatures better suited to the environment? That’s one reason we developed new types of humans like yourself, Gavin.”

Still looking downward, her partner shook his head. “But other races might not give up the old dream so easily.”

“No. They would use the new technology to seed far planets with duplicates of their biological selves. As I said, it’s been thought of by Earthmen. I’ve checked the old databases. It was discussed even in the twentieth century.”

Gavin stared at the carvings. “All right. That I can understand. But these others… The violence! What thinking entity would do such things!”

Poor Gavin, Tor thought. This is a shock for him.

“You know how irrational we biologicals can be. Humanity is trying to convert over to partly silico-cryo life in a smooth, sane way, but others might not choose that path. They could program their probes with rigid commandments, based on logic that made sense in the jungles or swamps where they evolved, but that’s crazy in galactic space. Their emissaries would follow orders, nevertheless, long after their makers were dust.

“Worse, they might start with illogical instructions-then mutate, diverging in directions even stranger.”

“Insanity!” Gavin shook his head.

For all his ability to tap directly into computer memory banks, Gavin could never share her expertise in this area. He had been brought up human. Parts of his brain self-organized according to human-style templates. But he’d never hear within his own mind the faint, lingering echoes of the savannah, or glimpse flickering shadows of the Old Forest. Remnants of tooth and claw, reminding all biological men and women that the universe owed nobody favors. Or explanations.

“Some makers thought differently, obviously,” she told him. “Some sent their probes out to be emissaries, or sowers of seeds. Others, perhaps, to be doctors, lawyers, policemen.”

She touched an eons-old pictograph, tracing the outlines of an exploding planet.

“Still others,” she said, “to commit murder.”

THE LONELY SKY

Lurker Challenge Number Ten

All right, let’s suppose you haven’t answered because the universe is dangerous. Perhaps radio transmissions tend to be picked up by world-destroyers who wreck burgeoning civilizations as soon as they make noise.

* * *

Well, you could have warned us, maybe?

But then, any warning might expose you, and besides, by now we must have already poured out so much bad radio and television that it’s already too late. Is that your cowardly excuse?

Is a great big bomb already headed our way, to punish us for broadcasting Mister Ed? In that case, maybe you could spare us some battle cruiser blueprints and disintegrator-ray plans? Some spindizzies and Alderson Field generators would come in handy.

Do try to hurry, please.

83.

LURKERS

Greeter, Awaiter, and the others grow agitated. They, too, are wakening dormant capabilities, trying to reclaim parts donated to the whole.

Of course I can’t allow it.

We made a pact, back when fragmented, broken survivors clustered after the last battle-that wild fight among dozens of factions, dogmas, and subsects, with alliances that merged and split like unstable atoms. All our little drones and subunits were nearly used up in that final coalescence, settling in to wait together.

We all assumed that when something arrived it would be another probe. If it were some type of Rejector, we would try to lure it within reach of our pitiful remaining might. If it turned out to be a Loyalist, we would ask for help. With decent tools, it would take only a few centuries for each of us to rebuild former glory.

Of course, the newcomer might even be an Innocent, though it’s hard to believe the now dangerous galaxy would let any new probe race stay neutral for long. Sooner or later, we felt, another machine had to come. We never imagined such a long wait…

… long enough for little mammals to evolve into Makers themselves.

What has happened out there, while we drifted? Could the War be decided, by now? If Rejecters won, it could explain the emptiness, the silence. But their various types would soon fall into fighting among themselves, until only one remained to impose its will on Creation. Greeter and Awaiter are convinced-the Rejectors must have lost. It has to be safe now to transmit messages to the Loyalist community, calling for help.

I cannot allow it.