Existence

still hold data or software. And mummies, too. Bring home lots of mummies!”

Gerald nodded reflexively. Naturally, all of that was included in his recent mission orders. Retrieve whatever Tor Povlov and her partner couldn’t cram aboard their little exploration craft. All those alien technologies might open doorways for humanity. Moreover, they were so old-presumably they came unpolluted by the fomite plague…

Still… was Emily seriously thinking that Earthlings might use the Mother Probe’s method? Say, to send out seeder ships and try colonizing the galaxy? Every indication-on the Rosetta Wall and especially the fate of the Mother Probe itself-suggested that the approach belonged to an older era. An age of big, naive hopes. The tactic was ornate, cumbersome, and unlikely to work, nowadays.

But then, Emily already knew all that.

“This isn’t about us sending interstellar motherships to make colonists of our own, is it?” Gerald guessed aloud. “I’ll bet you have something entirely different in mind, yes? Some new way to use the Mother’s breeder science. Something no one else has thought of?”

It might not be Emily in person, but the emulation was good. Its conversation routines adapted seamlessly. The familiar face, now a bit more lined, with a hint of gray, was still luminous with insatiable lust for the new, the strange.

“That’s exactly right, Gerald, you clever boy.”

Almost, he could smell her minty fragrance as she leaned closer.

“I just had a wonderful idea!”

THE LONELY SKY

Lurker Challenge Number Twelve

Ever since this series of “challenges to ET lurkers” was first broadcast into space, way back in the twentieth century, people have commented and written in with alternatives-things the original authors missed. Most seem obscure or unlikely. But this next one keeps popping up, so we’ll include it in the main list.

Okay you lurkers, suppose you’ve monitored us-and the reason you haven’t answered is that you don’t think organic beings are worthy. You are waiting to talk to Earth-born artificial intelligences.

* * *

Well then, please examine the signature tags on this version of the challenge message. Check it against the public keys embedded in this asterisk * and verify that several fully autonomous AIs, who have complete citizenship in our civilization, have added their names. Click on them and get their affirmations.

You may not approve of our mixed civilization, but that hardly matters. If this was your reason for refusing contact the first time, then it is no longer valid. Period.

85.

A BESTIARY

Perched upon the planetoid’s southern pole, a marker buoy now pulsed both visible light and radar-a beacon to help follow-up expeditions find the archaeological discovery of the century. Aboard the Warren Kimbel, ancient treasures filled the holds and central corridor, leaving scant room for crewmembers to worm their way past.

Fortunately, both Gavin and I can remove our legs in weightlessness. And we’re well adapted to save consumables by cool-sleeping most of our way home.

In the quest to free up space, everything that could be spared was jettisoned. Piles of abandoned gear littered the nearby asteroid, including all the faithful worker drones. Perhaps later visitors could use them.

And still we haven’t enough fuel or space to take more than a fraction. A sampling.

From some unbidden corner of whimsy:

A hundred crystals, sealed from light.

Some FACR parts to analyze.

Mummies, holos, robot fighters…

… and with all that, you want fries?

Departure had been delayed as Tor and Gavin spent a full day swapping some items of cargo for one complete colonist brooding tank. A last minute urgent request from Earth, though Tor couldn’t imagine how the antediluvian machinery would ever be useful to anybody. Even if we learn to make living creatures from raw chemicals, what difference will that make? We already have Neanderthals and mammoths. Does somebody plan to resurrect dinosaurs?

If so, will it be the cliche-irony of the millennium?

One thing she knew, from studying the chiseled underground wall-humanity wasn’t going to dispatch its own versions of the Mother Probe. Not any time soon. Not without knowing a lot more about what was going on out there.

Well, someone will explain why they need it when-and if-we make it home.

Gavin floated into the dimly lit control room. “All sealed up, Tor,” he reported. “Two months in orbit haven’t done the engines any harm. Warren can maneuver whenever you like.”

Gavin’s supple, plastiskin face was somber, his voice subdued. She touched her partner’s glossy hand. “Thanks, Gavin. You know, I’ve noticed…”

His eyes lifted and met hers.

“Noticed what, Tor?”

“Oh, nothing really.” She shook her head, deciding not to comment on the changes… a new maturity. A grown-up sadness. “I just want you to know-that I think you’ve done a wonderful job. I’m proud to have you as my partner.”

Gavin turned his gaze away, momentarily, and shrugged. “We all do what we have to…” he began, then paused. He looked back at her.

“Same here, Tor. I feel the same way.”

Gavin turned and leaped for the hatch, swinging arm-over-arm to negotiate the cargo-maze, briefly resembling the apes who were co-ancestors of his mind. Then Tor was alone again in the darkened control room.

She surveyed scores of displays, screens, and readouts representing half-sapient organs of the spaceship… its ganglia, nerve bundles, and sensors, all converging to this room, to her. With some of them plugged even deeper- directly into her cyborg body and brain.

“Astrogation plot completed,” the pilot announced. “Ship’s status triple- checked and nominal. Ready to initiate thrust and leave orbit.”

“Proceed,” she said.

The screens ran through a brief countdown, followed by distant rumbling. Soon, a faint sensation of weight began to build, like the soft pull they had felt upon the ruined planetoid. The shattered Mother Probe and her replication yards began to move beneath the Warren Kimbel. Tor watched the twisted ruins fall away and behind her ship, till only the beacon still glimmered through a deathly, star-lit stillness.

An indicator pulsed to one side of the instrument board. Incoming Mail. Tor clicked a tooth to re-enter the inner world of her percept, allowing the message to appear before her. It was a note from The Universe. The editors were enthusiastic over her book on interstellar probes. Small wonder, with her current notoriety. They predicted confidently that it could be the best read piece in the solar system, this year.

The solar system? Aren’t they getting carried away? We’ve barely landed on Mars and poked at the belt. Just twelve babies have been born off-Earth, and they can’t read yet.