interregnum.
Awaiter and Greeter have withdrawn to the sunward pole, along with most of the lesser emissaries. They, too, are flexing long-unused capabilities, exercising their few motile drones. They plan to contact the humans and possibly send a star-message, as well. I’ve been told not to interfere.
Their warning doesn’t matter. I’ll give them a bit more time. An illusion of independence. But this eventuality was already taken into account.
As I led the battle to prevent Earth’s destruction, long ago, I’ve also intrigued to keep it undisturbed. The Purpose won’t be thwarted.
Waiting here, I see that our rock’s slow rotation now has me looking upon the sweep of dust clouds and hot, bright stars that humans quaintly call the Milky Way. Many of the stars are younger than I am.
How long have I watched the galaxy turn! For ages, while my mind moved at the slowest of subjective rates, I could follow the spiral arms swirl visibly past, twice bunching for a brief megayear into sharp shock fronts where molecular clouds swirled and massive stars were born, only to end their short lives in glorious supernovae. The sense of movement, of rapid travel, was magnificent! Even though I was only being swept along by this system’s little sun, at times I could imagine I was young again, an independent probe, hurtling through a strange starscape toward the unknown.
Now, as thoughts move more quickly, the bright pinpoints have frozen in place, part of a still backdrop, as if hanging in expectancy, nervously awaiting what happens next. It is a strange, arrogant imagining-as if the universe cares what happens in this obscure corner, or will notice who wins a skirmish in the long, long war.
Thinking fast, I feel almost like my biological friend whose tiny ship cruises by now, only light-seconds away, separated by just two or three tumbling rocks! While I prepare a surprise for my erstwhile companions, it is possible to spare a pocket of my mind and follow her progress… to appreciate her spark of youth.
Perhaps I should have acted to prevent her report, the delivery of her sample trove. It would make my own work easier if humans came here innocent, unsuspecting.
Soon, very soon, these planetoids will swarm with all the different varieties of humans-from true biologicals to resurrected cousins to cyborgs to pure machines and even creatures that were given sapience as a promethean gift. This strange solution to the Maker Quandary-this turning of makers into the probes themselves-will shortly arrive, a frothing mass of multiformed human beings.
They’ll be wary. Thanks to her, they’ll sense a few edge-glimmers of the Truth. Well, it’s only fair. They would have needed that advantage to have a chance with Rejectors, or even Loyalists. They will need every insight, to survive the crystal plague.
And they’ll need their wits when they encounter me.
A stray thought bubbles to the surface, invading my mind like a crawling glob of helium three.
I can’t help but picture something happening, perhaps in a far portion of the galaxy. My own family-my line of probes, or others like it-could have made some discovery, or leap of thought, beyond all that I assume. Or maybe a new generation of replicant-being emerged, godlike in omniscience and power. Either way, might they have chosen another course by now? Could a new tactic or immunity have overcome the Plague? Might some unforeseen strategy of mind take matters to a new level?
Is it possible that my Purpose has become obsolete, as Rejectionism and Loyalism grew redundant?
Oh, it’s clear what happened. The human concept of
And yet…
… yet I can envision (vaguely) a new generation coming up with something as advanced and incomprehensible to me as the Replicant War must seem to humans. A discomforting thought, still I toy with it, like a shiny- dangerous bauble.
Oh yes, humans affected me. I enjoy this queer sensation! As never before meeting them, I now savor uncertainty. Suspense.
The noisy, multiformed tribe of humans will be here soon.
My name is Seeker and I expect interesting times.
Enough. This message-to-ET broadcast is finished. For now. Till the next time someone beams it outward to vex and challenge. Take that, you alien skulkers out there.
That is, if you exist.
Did we cover every potential reason why non-earthly lurkers in our solar system might decide to stay silent, instead of openly saying hello? Of course not!
Indeed, the “lurker” scenario never seemed very likely. There are plenty of other hypotheses that try to resolve the paradox of the Great Silence-the strange absence of voices in a cosmos that
The strangest possibility? Yet one consistent in all ways? That we’re the
Meanwhile, I now turn my attention back to the humans who are reading or listening to this right now. Not mythical aliens, but real people who feel curiosity’s itch, who crave ideas, and who still (even today) buy science fiction stories and ponder the sacred question “what if?”
In other words, folks who are far more worthy of my time and attention than snooty aliens.
As we embark on a new century, let’s recall our duty. To keep looking around. To keep looking ahead.
– The Lonely Sky (1999)
87.
By now he was getting pretty good at the physical part-averting his gaze, picking another part of the hallway to stare toward, at just the right angle, so the natural blind spot of his left eye would float over the length of corridor in question. That trick was easy, once you got the hang of it. Sure, his brain kept stitching together seams, trying to ignore the small missing zone-but as skilled as the human visual cortex might be, it couldn’t insert what your retina didn’t see.
Gerald recalled a story about a medieval king who loved to do this trick while bored at court, glancing away in order to let the blind spot of one eye settle over the head of a tedious petitioner, surreptitiously decapitating the man, for being criminally tiresome.
Of course, Ika and Hiram wanted him to go beyond just shifting the eye. Or even “ignoring” that little stretch of corridor. According to some tantric legends, any person who was disciplined enough to
