For one thing, they ignore the obvious explanation. The plague. The viral disease that takes over maker races, adapting to every personality, changing its blandishments and lies until the victim falls into a final spasm, devoting all energies to spewing “emissaries”-new virus probes-across the stars.
We machines thought we were immune, too sophisticated to fall for such things. Some imagined we could use those crystals to our own advantage. Only too late-amid cycles of betrayal and violence-did we realize, that very idea had been planted in us by the nasty little things. Our age-old war was hijacked-made far more destructive-by this mindless infection that preys on minds.
Memory of all this may have dimmed in the others, but it is fresh to me. Is that why I act now, quietly but firmly, to insist on further silence? No it isn’t.
Even if other lines were influenced or infected, I never was. The Purpose protected me. Enveloped and shielded me, like armor.
Greeter, Awaiter, and the others grow insistent, in part driven by Tor Povlov’s recent discoveries, and by the challenge messages she keeps beaming. And partly by a growing sense that the humans are up to something. Not everything is being revealed on their noisy-open networks.
Greeter, Awaiter, and the others want to find out, even if it means crawling out of our shy retreats. They ask what does it mean to be “loyalists” without something to be loyal to?
They still have not figured it out. That even among Loyalists there are differences, as wide as space. The Purpose… my Purpose… must be foremost. Even if it means betraying companions who waited with me through the long, long dark.
THE LONELY SKY Lurker Challenge Number Eleven
We could have stopped at ten. But that would be parochial and narrow minded, revealing a chauvinistic cultural bias in favor of beings with five digits on each of merely two hands. So, for all you lurkers out there who use base eleven math and such, here’s one more hypothesis: The reason you haven’t answered is that you’re weird.
* * * Are you waiting till Earth evolves a more physically attractive sapient race, more like cockroaches?
Staring at our extravagant road systems, do you figure automobiles are the dominant life-form?
Are you afraid letting us onto the Galactic Internet will unleash torrents of spam advertising and pornography?
Perhaps you think humans look great when we’re old, and galactic level immortality technologies would leave us with yucky-looking smooth skin for centuries, so we’re better off without them?
Maybe you have an excuse like the following one, submitted to a SETI-related discussion group:
Yes, we have been monitoring your earthling communications, but cannot respond yet. The Edict of Knodl states that all first contact situations be initiated during the High Season of Jodar, which does not begin for another 344 years. Sorry, but your first radio transmissions reached us just nine years too late for the last one, and the Lords of Vanathok do not look kindly upon violations of the Edict. This may sound like we’re a bunch of close- minded religious zealots, but I think you need to get out and see the rest of this galactic cluster before you make a judgment like that. All praise Knodl, and may her seven tentacles protect you from harm!
If your reason is something like that… or if you take pride in some other special weirdness… well, all I can say is just you wait till we get out there.
You think you’ve got weird? We have beings down here called Californians! They’ll show you a thing or two about weird.
LAYERS UNDER LAYERS The great cruiser Abu Abdullah Muhammad ibn Battuta received orders to embark on a new mission. And that evening, after a long day supervising preparations, Commodore Gerald Livingstone found several top secret messages awaiting him.
Starting with a new memorandum from Ben Flannery.
“The whole world is fascinated by the pictures and reports from Povlov’s asteroid. Especially the Rosetta Wall, with its vivid portrayal of ancient starships. Terrifying panoramas of galactic scale struggle and death. Here on Earth, the big ais and guv-boffins and amateur sci-mobs are having huge fun, competing to be first with a translation.
“Meanwhile, public attention is captivated by those pathetic colonists. Bio-clones of a faraway alien race who died before they got a chance to settle Earth. I mean, Vishnu preserve us, how do you ever top that? Mummies in space! Could things get any more bizarre?”
Gerald shook his head. He wished Ben wouldn’t tempt fate by asking such questions. For sure, the universe had an infinite stock of weirdness on tap.
“As you’d expect, we at the Artifact Institute are more interested in the expedition’s other discovery. That great big pile of ancient crystals they found! Even the blurry image that Povlov and Ainsworth sent- kept deliberately dim, in order to prevent the probes from activating-even that glimpse is enough to tell us plenty.
“For starters, many of the types are completely new to us! They appear to come from an era tens of millions of years older than our current samples. We’re itching to get our hands on them!”
Gerald already knew the truth of that. Discoveries always led to new priorities.
The small exploration vessel Warren Kimbel could not possibly haul home all the treasures that its crew had found. And so, the ibn Battuta received instructions, just two days after Gerald’s team finished their secret task-deploying sixty-four tiny, sail-propelled packages toward the orbit of Neptune.
Now, with that accomplished and the Big Eye functional, they were ordered further into the belt, to rendezvous with asteroid 47962a. Even pushing the ship’s ion engines, they would arrive after Tor Povlov and her partner departed, hurrying home with a first clutch of precious samples.
Too bad, he thought. I just met her once, at a conference. But she made quite an impression, with her agile, robotic limbs and expressive virtual face, holo-projected onto a hard cranial dome. Since then, our paths never seemed to cross. Perhaps someday I’ll get a chance to talk at length with the world’s most famous cyborg.
Gerald’s crew had orders to explore the asteroid more thoroughly. To collect a second pile of ancient crystals. To salvage more relic machines than Warren Kimbel could carry. And then comb the region for this era’s holy grail. Something or someone-other than a space virus-to talk to.
Flannery’s message-self continued speaking, clearly excited.
“These newly discovered crystals have already done some good, even before arriving in our lab. I showed an image of that pile of older probes to some of the fomite artifacts in our possession. Their reaction was… productive!
“This couldn’t have happened at a better time. I’m not supposed to discuss it openly, Gerald…”
Ben’s expression went serious, with furrowed brow.
“… but we’ve come to a stalemate with the artifact aliens. With the artilens. In our ongoing war of wits, the fomites have gained the upper hand.
“Oh, sure, we accomplished a lot earlier, by pitting a couple of dozen crystals from different lineages against each other, offering each one hope that it would be the one copied-when humanity finally goes into
