Existence

“So… what I’m looking at is a great big box that’s attached to the rear end of our ship?” Hamish shook his head. “That’s not standard design, is it? I mean… the smaller compartment at the front is there to control the sail. But what the heck is all that for?” He motioned at the brown wall blocking their view toward home.

“We’ve speculated about that,” commented the Oldest Member. “Some of us believe that it contains instrumentalities to increase our chance of success, when we reach our destination.”

“What, you mean tools? What kind?”

“The implements might include signaling devices, to better announce ourselves to a local species. Or telescopes to study them.

“Or else, perhaps the container comes loaded with weaponry, in order that we should be better able to protect ourselves. Say, in the event that we find the new solar system infested with malignant, old-era probes.”

“Well, anything that improves our…”

Hamish halted, feeling a sudden thrill of realization. His fingers made a satisfying snap, even in this virtual realm.

“Of course! This has to do with the Cure. The box must contain bioreactors and genetic codes and artificial wombs and all the things we’ll need at journey’s end, in order to start turning ancient data into living, organic beings!”

That had been Emily Tang’s great plan-a scheme she came up with after learning about a long-dead seeder ship, discovered in the asteroid belt. A Mother Probe whose colonist-children were murdered about the same time as the dinosaurs. The Seeder itself represented an obsolete way to spread biological sapience around the galaxy-a shortsighted and self-centered approach, doomed in this more dangerous era.

But it sparked Emily’s big idea.

Why not use the same kind of technologies to resurrect a few of the artilen species that we find locked inside ancient probes? Sapient races that are long extinct-vanished from the universe. Today, their only remnants are software shadows trapped within crystal eggs. But might it be possible to bring some of the original species back to life? Or creatures who are close to them, both physically and culturally? Restoring them as living organic beings, here on Earth?

And if we can do that… why not start with those who prove their friendship first?

The very idea had been enough to shatter some of the viral-fomite alliances. The offer provoked some of the virtual artifact entities to experience surges of unexpected nostalgia for their original maker-selves. Long-dormant sentiment for living creatures who once strode in the open, breathing air, interacting directly with the cosmos, building dreams and hopes that were all their own, under naked suns.

“You would do that for us?” they asked. “Even knowing what we are? What we tried to do?”

To which humanity replied:

“We’ll not be doing it for you, but for your ancestors, the earlier versions of your species, who made you. And for your living descendants.”

When the first resurrection experiments bore fruit-when a few alien infants were born out of artificial wombs and adopted by human families-virtual envoys in scores of artifact probes abruptly brought forth secret treasures. Stretches of genetic code that they had hidden away, in copy after copy, information buried for ages deep within crystal lattices. For them, an older loyalty suddenly trumped their Darwinian self-interest as bits of “viral” data. And they were more than willing to pay the required cost.

The truth. Or as much of it as they could pry loose from the other fomite beings. Those still desperate to promote the plague.

So successful was the program-with dozens of species of alien infants now being raised in nurseries, creches, and private homes across Earth, adding to the diversity of what it meant to be “human”-that a notion began spreading around the planet, intensely assertive, brash, even messianic.

Why not teach this?

If the method works for us… to cure the plague through acts of potent generosity… then might it work for others out there, too?

Hamish felt certain. This had to explain the extra-large cargo compartment at the rear of their vessel.

“It must contain tools to work the Cure! Machinery to start the process in our new solar system.”

* * *

It came as a disappointing blow when Lacey shook her head.

“I have to doubt that, Hamish. I’m sorry, but it doesn’t make much sense.”

“Why?”

“Because no mere box a meter long could contain any of the devices you describe. And the genetic codes are all imbedded here”-she gestured around them-“in the data lattice of our ship.

“Anyway, remember, the plan starts by helping a young alien race with all phases of their development crisis. Teaching them to stand up and think for themselves and to resist other crystals that pose as ‘gods,’ for example. To not view us as gods! And other vital things like ecology, using sustainable technology wisely. Plus the vital tricks of reciprocal accountability and positive-sum games…

“Only much later, during the inevitable crisis, when they have high technology and when their minds are threatened by fomite virus memes, that’s when we’ll add the Tang Offer, teaching them how to mix and brew more types to people. To increase the diversity and wisdom of their civilization. Helping them acquire the hybrid vigor to take on all challenges.

“Plus empowering them to make the same offer to the crystals that have infected their system,” Hamish added, to prove he understood all this. “Luring cooperation from many of the virus entities.”

“We carry the schematics and knowledge needed to do all that, Hamish, adjusting and adapting the designs to fit local conditions. But our plan counts on locals doing all the physical work!

“Also, that’s the only moral way. It solves the ethical dilemma of the old seeder probes, whose plan to colonize Earth would have ruined our planet’s chance to evolve sapients of its own. This way, a world gets to make its own smart race first. And only then-by their own choice-do they invite others to join them, creating an outpost of cosmopolitan, galactic civilization.”

Hamish blinked at Lacey’s stunning version of the Cure. He had never looked at it quite so grandly before. She sure thought on an impressive scale.

“Terrific!” he nodded. “So for the sake of our mission-”

“The point is, I find it unlikely that Earth would have crammed a package full of teensy bioreactors, that would only decay or go obsolete anyway, across millions of years. We’ll teach. We aren’t meant to do it ourselves.”

Feeling deflated, Hamish found nothing to say, except a grunt of soft disappointment, like he always felt when one of his cool ideas got shot down.

He turned and saw that they were slowing. Approaching a cluster of figures at the aft end of the great crystal ship, where the ceiling’s descending arc became almost a vertical wall. As had been the case at the ship’s opposite end, a handful of human figures mingled with aliens near some holo and twodee displays.

He let out a sigh, turning back to Lacey and Om.

“All right then. So the box doesn’t have directly to do with the Cure. Still, this means our vessel is larger and more capacious than your typical crystal probe. It also comes equipped with tools and ways to interact with the world. That’s great! We won’t be helpless. This should improve our chances of mission success. Right?”

Something about Om’s reaction seemed off. Too muted or reserved.

“I suppose that is true, my friend,” answered the alien entity. “The odds may go up, for this particular probe.”

“And the other ten million just like it?”

“They, too, will benefit, if they were dispatched so-equipped.”

“So. Then. What’s the problem?”

Hamish looked to Lacey, who lifted her shoulders. “I believe Om considers the extra expense to be a foolish