Existence

Tame acceptors of the tyranny of the queue.”

Haihong Ming-their member from the Central Kingdom-laughed aloud, and Akana Hideoshi offered a grim chuckle. But Ben Flannery, their anthropologist from Hawaii, looked at Emily, clearly puzzled and offended by her cultural bias. Emily shrugged. “Hey, just because it was my idea to teach them discipline, that doesn’t mean I don’t empathize. Right now, their fractious pushiness has a certain schoolyard charm. Even if it makes communication damn near impossible.”

Watching the rabble of aliens closely, Tshombe put up with a bit of squeezing and elbowing. But when several newcomers joined forces to shove the bat-creature aside, pushing their way up front, Patrice waved a curt hand and the overhead sunbeam cut off, leaving the stone once again in darkness. Compressors kicked in, activating heat pumps below the tabletop, as the stone was given a sudden taste of bone-deep chill.

“Now, boys and girls and whosits,” murmured Emily, with evident enjoyment. “Learn to behave.”

Patrice brought up the beam again, as soon as the jostling stopped. With scalpel precision, he centered it upon the centauroid and squid, leaving the newcomers tasting only a penumbra.

“I have had better training response from otters,” Tshombe grunted in his deep Frafricaans accent. “But clearly there is progress. The rate curves are improving.”

While several more of these cycles repeated, Gerald glanced over his shoulder at the “peanut gallery” beyond the quarantine glass-a slanted arena of plush VIP seats, where dignitaries and experts scrutinized every move the contact team made, aissisted by the very best tools, consultants, and instrumentalities that money could buy.

The advisers now also had a presence on this side of the quarantine barrier, lurking just a few meters to Gerald’s right-a luminous, 3-D figure named Hermes, complete with chiseled features, golden robes, and matching hair-who appeared to pace back and forth at the far end of the table, glaring at General Hideoshi’s team with growing frustration.

Why on Earth did the advisers pick that garish thing to serve as their liaison metaphor? Gerald wondered. Do the politicians and professors and aristocrats think Akana will be intimidated by a cartoon Olympian god?

Maybe it wasn’t a deliberate choice. Often a group’s avatar was selected by interpolating some trait that all members had in common. Did this golden god signify that the advisers viewed themselves as… an elite?

Or it might just be overcompensation. Unconsciously, they want humanity to look its very best.

Even so, Hermes was way over the top. Impatience manifested in a furled brow as the ersatz Greek god drummed the tabletop with lambent fingertips, pausing now and then to scribble suggestions or chidings that he kept sliding across the table, to join a pile of shiny virts-messages that Gerald and the main team mostly ignored. Something about Hermes bugged Gerald. The synthetic Olympian’s fizzing frustration seemed all too similar to that of the Artifact aliens.

Unlike the main sci-fi stereotypes-extraterrestrials who were portrayed as aloofly superior, or cutesy-wise, or threatening-it does seem endearing and reassuring to find them behaving like disorganized schoolyard brats.

Unless… that reassurance is part of an act.

At the opposite end of the long conference table lurked another ai construct-Emily’s feline holvatar counterpart, Tiger, dedicated to paranoid suspicion, though just as much a caricature as Hermes. Gerald sometimes caught the two artificial beings glaring at each other past the real members of the Contact Team.

And yes, I can see another parallel. Are Tiger and Hermes really at odds? We have no idea if ais really do compete with each other on our behalf. Or whether that, too, may be a ruse, some reassuring role-playing for the sake of the rubes.

Half a dozen more cycles followed, as Patrice played his artful game of rapid rewards and punishments, with the Artifact wallowing in periods of chilled darkness, punctuated by intervals of sharp light and focused heat. Gradually, the Katangan expert began humming, while nodding contentedly. “I think they are starting to get the idea,” Patrice said. “Look closely.”

Gerald’s privileged position gave him a close-up view. First to become visible was the squidlike being, still front and center, waving forward a single tentacle, stroking the interface between two worlds. Only this time the centauroid and bat-like creature weren’t jostling to share the forwardmost position. Rather, they had taken up positions side by side, on the left facing away from the squid…

… and Gerald saw purpose in their actions. Those two were now actively blocking others in the crowd from coming closer. Nor were they alone in this effort. To the right, Gerald saw three others-including the Buddha-like figure-performing a similar role, preventing interference from the unruly rabble on that side. Moreover, as Tshombe’s energizing beam selectively made contact with the defenders, they seemed to grow more solid and distinct. Stronger and more capable of holding their ground.

In the center, chains of letters spiraled outward from that single tentacle. This time, words unrolled without jumble or interference, proceeding distinctly enough to activate the sonic interface. A voice emerged, sounding raspy and upset.

… we have come in friendship… across the vast and empty desert… with an offer of ultimate value… so why do you torment us?

Akana sighed with evident satisfaction.

“Okay, Gerald. You’re on.”

He leaned forward. No longer was it necessary to write directly on the ovoid surface with a pointed finger. Not so long as he enunciated clearly, speaking directly at the stone-from-space.

“We find your chaotic behavior disturbing,” he said. “While we appreciate the value of diversity, we require some degree of orderliness-or courtesy-if this conversation is to get anywhere. That can happen in either of two ways.”

He paused, as the linguistic adviser had recommended, if things ever got to this phase. Better to let the aliens ask. After several more seconds, the being that resembled a terrestrial cephalopod did just that. A slender tendril wrote-and the audio speakers interpreted-

What two ways?

Gerald spoke slowly and clearly.

“Either by taking turns, letting each individual have an allotted time to converse with us… or else by appointing one or more among you to represent the whole community.

“Frankly, we’d prefer both methods. But first the representative. It is time, at last, to clarify the nature of your mission here and what great commonwealth we are being invited to join.”

Sucker-tipped tendrils churned and writhed.

I recall… we used to do things… that way…

Gerald nodded, as did Ben and Emily. One theory held that the aliens’ disorderly behavior was the natural outcome of eons spent in isolation, drifting through space. A stupefying test of endurance that might demolish any former sanity.

I shall endeavor to persuade the others to… cooperate.

The squidlike being turned-the centauroid and bat-thing and Buddha and insectoid revolved to face it, as if intending to talk things over-

– and the scene began to dissolve into confusion, once more, as some on the periphery formed a wedge, joining forces to power their way through, driving hard to get into the foreground.

“Cut it off!” Akana commanded. The Artifact was plunged again into dark chill.

I hope the thing’s crystal structure can stand these wild swings of hot and cold, Gerald thought. It never had to deal with such rapid oscillations in space. The advisory icon, Hermes, had made that very point, at length.

Gyrating clouds could still be seen, agitated by dim figures, grappling in the virtual depths underneath the Artifact’s surface. So vigorous was the action at first, that Gerald worried. Might emulated beings do actual damage to each other, maybe even cause death? It certainly happened in some human-designed game worlds.

“They’re slowing down,” he commented.

The brief tussle did seem to quickly sap whatever skimpy energy reserves remained in there. Through the mist,