Existence

then we plunge like falcons

toward the light

“Even when we dive back in,” Lacey added, “it will be a quick, comet-brief passage, followed by more centuries out here in the cold zone. And so on, forever.”

Hamish turned to pace away, uncertain how to react.

At one level, he felt betrayed. Manipulated! Horrifically used by the powers back on Earth, whose grand tale- about sending ten million messengers of salvation, carrying the Cure to other worlds-turned out to be one big…

… hoax.

The word punched out of his subconscious so forcefully that Hamish actually saw it shimmer for a moment, in the space before him. Despite his still-glowering sense of affront, a part of him felt cornered into grim appreciation of rich irony.

Hamish, can you-the great hoaxer-honestly complain?

Sure I can! he retorted to himself, hotly. Yet, he couldn’t help but notice-his inner conflict was so vivid, so lush and complex, that it made him feel more intensely genuine, more fleshed-out, than any time since he first awoke as a virtual being in this world. Anger and irony seemed to reinforce the sensation-

– that I’m alive.

Anyway, he wasn’t the only one stewing in wrath, fuming apart from the others. Some distance across the glassy plain, Hamish saw the Oldest Member, pacing and stomping in a display of fiery temper. No one had ever witnessed any version of Om behave like this before.

Because he always seemed so calm, so supremely confident, Hamish recalled. In fact, we’re pissed off for different reasons, he and I.

This version of Hamish Brookeman is still habitually self-centered. I wanted to be a stellar voyager. To personally-in this virtual form, aboard this ship-see other worlds and strange kinds of people. I’m angry because I’m disappointed for my own sake.

But Om is an evolved, intelligent virus. He hardly gives a damn about this particular copy of himself, or whether this specific probe ever makes contact. He’s enraged to learn that none of the ten million will ever get a chance to infect some distant race. Nor is humanity building millions or billions more. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

Strangely, it was the sight of Om’s fury that started Hamish down the road of lessening his own. He looked at Emily Tang, who had the most reason to feel shocked and betrayed. The famous science-heroine of the century, her great idea led to the miracle of reviving extinct alien intelligent species, adding them to Earth’s great stew, and thus converting some of the crystal-artilens into allies. A method that seemed to immunize against the Plague. A technique that countless Earthlings deemed worth spreading across the stars. A care package of hope called the Cure.

Our fleet of ten million was portrayed as the vanguard of many more. A gift from Earth. A great inoculation to end more than a hundred million years of galactic disaster! Only then…

Only then, what happened?

The Gerald Livingstone message herald had explained what humanity’s brightest minds believed, though they had kept their conclusion secret for a time. A dour deduction that Hamish reached, all by himself, just hours ago.

That the Cure was an excellent step, a palliative, even a short-term remedy… but nothing like a grand, overall solution.

Perhaps only one percent of techno-sapients ever thought of it or implemented it correctly. Still, over time, the disease would have found ways to trick even those clever ones. The missionary zeal that swept Earth-an eagerness to generously help spread the Cure-that very zeal seemed proof the infection still operated! More subtly, but still aimed at the same goal-

– for humanity to go into an insatiable, endless sneezing fit, aimed at the stars.

No. The best minds on Earth-human, ai, dolphin, and others-all concluded. We aren’t ready yet. If we set forth now, even carrying the so-called Cure, we’ll just be part of the problem.

The way Turbulence Planet must have spent itself into exhaustion, spewing forth “warnings” that also carried traps.

No, there is only one course of action that makes sense, right now.

To learn more.

We have to find out what’s happening out there!

Given all of that, Hamish felt awed and humbled by Emily Tang, the author of the Cure. There she stood with the others. Calmly moving past any disappointment-arguing, discussing, helping to plan the next stage.

Their mission. The real mission. One that ought to make Lacey Donaldson-Sander proud. Hamish glanced at her, now vibrant with eagerness. The one whose dream was coming true.

We are a telescope.

That summed it up.

I am a component of a telescope. Hamish weighed a strange mixture of humility and hubristic pride. It is my purpose. My reason for existence. The greatest telescope ever conceived by Man.

Possibly the greatest ever made by anybody.

Feeling his pseudo-heartbeat settle from outrage to mere resentment, Hamish wandered back toward the gathering. At least thirty virtual persons, human and alien, now clustered around a giant book left by the Gerald ai-herald, before it departed once more for the depths, with a jaunty salute.

Exploring the Galaxy from Our Home System.

Using the Sun as a Gravitational Lens.

Hamish didn’t quite get the concept. But he could always ask Lacey to explain things. I did start with a scientific education after all, before becoming a critic-gadfly. A bard of imaginary dooms.

But that left a burning question.

Why me?

Why any of us? Why not just send ten million robots to gather data for century after century, programmed to do it well and like it?

Something about crystal probe technology, packed with virtual personalities, must make it ideal for collecting and massaging vast amounts of data. Looking at his fellow AUPs, some choices were obvious. Birdwoman could probably handle the number crunching single handed.

And Lacey, all her life had led to this. Likewise, Emily, Singh, Courier, M’m por’lock and other science types. They already grasped the purpose and were eager to get started.

At the other extreme were those Hamish deemed useless-purely along for the ride-the oligarchs and other freeloaders who were uploaded for this trip because their money paid for it. They might play magic-wish games down below for ages, never caring that their voyage had been hijacked.

All right. But why is Om aboard? Hamish glanced at the Oldest Member, still pacing and muttering angrily, and realized.

We’ll learn a lot by observing him, whenever data comes in about some distant star system. Even if Om tries to deceive, we’ll have ten million versions of him to compare and contrast. Over time, we’ll poke and pry their paths apart, dissecting his deepest programming, perhaps developing an artilen lie detector!

Hamish smiled, knowing one of his roles.

No one was ever better at “poking” than me. I’ll be his chief tormenter!

And yet-

Was that all?

His only way to be useful?

Perhaps they expected me to join the playboys, down below.

He rebelled against that glum appraisal. Hamish glanced at Lacey.