Existence

In our case-as it had been on Turbulence Planet-the decision required an extra motive beyond selfishness.

Altruism. A desire to help others. That makes us above average.

But didn’t it just lead to the same result? Oh, we swore we would only send ten million, pushed by just one laser. But Om showed me. The fomite logic would eventually demand more, and more-for the sake of the Cure! Till we fell into an unstoppably fatal cycle of missionary zeal.

The Cure was clever. But clever enough to overcome a disease with a bottomless supply of tricks that evolved across eons? In the end, we were just as gullible, just as infected, as anybody else.

He stared downward, tempted to leap off this virtual platform into the void below. To seek succor in diminishment and unlimited power. To plummet. And thereupon shrink into a mere god.

94.

REFRACTION

“Y’know, there are other possibilities,” someone said. Hamish recognized the voice of Emily Tang. She must have followed soon after Lacey’s group, in order to join this discussion.

“For example, suppose the folks back home came up with an improved model of interstellar probe! We were among the first, after all. Perhaps they stopped producing our version and switched to one that’s more efficient, less heavy, and easier to propel to high speed.”

“So they might have only abandoned us,” commented the elegant Jovindra Singh. “Discarding the older models, leaving them to drift, while they allocate the laser to better bets. Wow, that is even more insulting than the renunciation theory!”

Hamish expected Om to speak up. This seemed compatible with his earlier comments. But the artilen said nothing.

“If only we could look,” Lacey said at last, after a sullen pause. She clearly referred to their blocked view homeward, where even a clear glance might reveal whether the Big Laser was still in use, even if it were aiming its great power at other targets. Without the box in the way, they might also pick up noise from Earth’s radio networks and industry. That, too, could tell them a lot.

Courier of Caution broadened Lacey’s longing into something more general.

“That has always been my own desire. To look and see, before doing anything else. It is why I urged support for your grand telescopes, Lacey-and other space-born efforts-to find out what has happened to other worlds. Whether any of them survived the disease, while still maintaining a vigorous, scientific culture.”

One of Courier’s most endearing traits had always been this penchant for unquenchable hopefulness, despite a frozen facial expression that resembled purse-lipped doubt. Even when giant mirrors gathered images of his home system, detecting no sign of civilization-no audible communications mesh, no atmospheric traces to suggest ongoing industry-Courier remained upbeat, explaining.

“It only shows that we became more efficient. That is exactly what a mature people must do, over time, in order to both have a mighty culture and use up few resources. It is what you humans have been doing, increasingly, for three generations! Earth was loudest in the radio spectrum back during the 1980s. It became a quieter planet while exploding with talk and ideas, carried over fiber and tight beams. My people have only taken this process further, by thousands of years!

“Need I also add that the galaxy is proved to be a dangerous place? I’ll wager that wise survivor races-like mine-grow cautious about leaking much. No sense in shouting! There are more subtle ways to reach out and explore. To find allies and fight back against an unfriendly cosmos.

“Nevertheless, I have every expectation that the next set of instruments will reveal them, my people, still vibrant and rambunctious. Still resisting the enemy with every strength.”

Hamish recalled how Courier used to say all this before every major new telescope came online. And when that one detected nothing at Turbulence system? Courier simply turned to help design the next.

One of those experiments involved propelling a few dozen early crystal probes, not toward faraway stars but a modest distance, into the gap between Uranus and Neptune. A unique zone, seven astronomical units wide, where theory suggested they might pick up focused gravitational waves, of all things. As Hamish recalled, that project delivered good science and helped humanity test its own early designs for crystal craft. But the probes found no trace of intelligent modulations in the gravitation noise. No spoor of high civilization, from any of sixty different directions.

Behind him, his fellow passengers-the ones who were serious, unlike the dilettantes playing god-games below-argued on, chewing over every possible explanation for their abandonment, from bad news to horrendous. Hamish, meanwhile, found himself staring not into the void, but at the great brown wall. The giant box that lay in contact with the aft end of their crystal vessel, blocking any view of home.

What if we were in a simulation? A test? And not in space at all? Isn’t that “box” exactly the sort of thing that the experimenters would set up, like a one-way mirror, to let them observe us up close? And to keep us from measuring things like the Earth or sun too closely?

Hamish gave in to an impulse and stuck out his tongue toward the great brown wall, at any spectators who might lurk there.

But no. He shrugged that idea aside. Not because it was stupid or illogical… it seemed as likely as anything others were discussing. No, Hamish dropped the idea because of something else. Something he had spent his whole life nurturing.

Intuition. Not always right. Often dead wrong. But always interesting. A trait that once got Hamish invited to join the Autie League! Because it was deemed a “savant-level talent.”

Right now, he was having a powerfully strange feeling, not unlike deja vu, only in reverse.

A sense that something ought to be obvious.

Something to try.

Right now.

“Say!” he asked aloud, turning to interrupt whoever was talking. “Has anyone actually tried to open that thing?”

Hamish realized, with a bit of chagrin, that the person he cut off was Emily. She had been saying something guilt-ridden, about how the presence of new “alien” people on Earth might contribute to overall human wisdom in the long run, but the greater variety could prove frightening and destabilizing in the short term. She worried that her “Cure” might have killed the patient. An interesting notion-

– though Hamish never deemed any topic more valuable than his current question.

“What did you say?” Lacey Donaldson asked him. “Open what?”

Hamish gestured in the direction everyone called “aft”… which also pointed back toward the sun and everything they all used to know. A view blocked by a giant container.

“That thing. The box. The mysterious crate. Have… you… tried… to open it?”

Courier of Caution stared at Hamish with its ribbon-eye, pursing its diamond-shaped, four-lipped mouth.

“We have set up instruments, Hamish. Tried to probe the box with light and other rays. We even managed to wish-create a weak laser and got return reflections…”

Hamish shook his head. “Look, we’re supposed to have access to the stuff inside, sooner or later, right? So… shouldn’t there be an instruction manual? Aren’t we supposed to be able to use whatever it is?”

The humans turned and looked at each other.

“I suppose that’s logical.”

“We had extensive pre-briefings, but no one mentioned it.”

“Because we were recorded from our originals some years before they settled on a final probe design. This box-thing’s an add-on.”

“So? He’s right. Even if it was all meant to be used at the destination, there have to be instructions!”

“But where? We scanned the surface of the box and found no message.”