David Brin - Existence

“Yes-”

“But it can take a long time for such a species to arise on a world, as it did on Earth. And so… oh, I see.”

He did, indeed. Ben performed another magicianlike flourish and his next simulation appeared. It showed dots of many colors converging on a likely planet till the surrounding solar system positively swarmed with eager recruitment envoys from every color. And those envoys then tarried, like drones hovering around a bee hive, waiting for as long as it would take for a new queen to emerge. Each of them eager to be the lucky, chosen one.

“All right,” he told the anthropologist. “This theory might explain why all these probes on, near, under, and above the Earth seem so jealous and hostile toward one another. Even if they come from the same meme-alliance… say, the Blues… they’ll still differ in which planet sent them, or when. Hence the particularism. The petty jealousy.

“It’s a pretty convincing model, Ben.”

“Thank you.” The blond professor seemed pleased.

“Only then…” Gerald frowned. “How do you explain the Oldest Member’s words? When he claimed that the species and civilizations out there don’t compete with one another?”

Flannery shrugged.

“Translation error. Recall that they learned English from our own encyclopedias and wikis, where ‘competition’ is generally taken to involve physical activity-like war or sports or capitalism. That has to be it!”

“But Ben, our histories do contain clear examples of missionary expansionism that involved the spread of cultural memes, just as in this model. So surely they would know that our word ‘competition’ also applies to-”

“I’m certain it’s a simple glitch in meaning.” Flannery nodded, eagerly. “Together we’ll uncover it. Just keep at it, my friend, poking them from every angle.

“Anyway,” Ben continued. “It seems that we’ll soon have a lot more artifacts to work with. Even if all the ‘others’ now being recovered on Earth turn out to be too badly damaged, it should be fairly easy to find intact ones in space. Already there’s discussion of joint recovery expeditions. China is even talking about pulling its Big Cheng lifters out of mothballs. It really is important that we learn what all of these messenger probes have to say, before committing to anything!”

Gerald nodded, agreeably. Yet he had a cynical, private thought.

This, from the fellow who was in such an eager rush, only an hour ago, to join the Galactic Federation?

He had to admit that Ben’s model of rival cultures appeared feasible and plausible and fit most of the facts.

It was also somewhat depressing to picture the galaxy in this state-a petty, relentless struggle for cultural converts, spanning perhaps hundreds of millions of years and spilling across the sky, leaving little room for new thoughts, open ideas. To have to choose from just a dozen or so cultural norms… even from hundreds… well, who would find that a pretty picture?

Well, it beats being conquered by some oppressive, monolithic alien empire, I suppose. And some of the cultures may turn out to be impressive, marvelous, even awesome.

Still, he found the overall prospect stifling. And this sure did put an end to the great big dreams of youth-all those gaudy, wondrous visions of cruising the galaxy in starships.

Oh well. Too bad.

That cloud of gloom followed him to the men’s room and back. It hovered overhead as he conferred with Akana and the others about their next set of questions for the Artifact aliens.

Even as Gerald sat back down at the big table, checked his notes, and ordered the house lights dimmed, knowing that no human being in the history of his species ever had a bigger audience, he was still thinking about Ben Flannery’s model.

Just as he prepared to reconvene the question and answer session, Gerald realized.

I don’t believe that’s the explanation at all.

The Oldest Surviving Member still wore that beatific smile, hands folded across a broad belly that jiggled in a manner that struck Gerald as… well, jolly.

A virt glowed in the corner of Gerald’s percept. One of many that flowed in from the Advisers’ Gallery, got bounced from Hermes to Tiger, and then passed to Ramesh and Genady and the others on the Contact Team. This one had an especially high topic relevance score.

Several amsci-posses and Fourth Estate studios have studied this Oldest Member character and a slim majority conclude he’s a fake! A composite, formulated with elements of Buddha and Santa Claus and several other reassuring archetypes, drawn from our own mythology.

Several high-rated Post-its were attached to that first message.

Yes, but also look at the ninety or so aliens behind him! Many of them are twitching their hands and/or manipulator organs, or speaking, without turning toward each other. These motions reach a crescendo, seconds before the Oldest Member starts talking. Statistical analysis suggests they may be controlling him with some kind of consensus-based, command-averaging system. I bet he’s their presentation puppet!

Another replied, just as cogently.

So? Is that a bad thing? We demanded they come up with some shared way to talk to us. This is a logical solution. What bothers me is they didn’t tell us. That they believe this fooled us. Do they think we’d actually expect the most influential member of their society to just happen to be charmingly humanoid! What do they take us for?

One more gloss commentary lifted above the others.

Should we let them go on thinking that?

It came accompanied by a quick-vote of the contact committee, approved by Akana.

Yes, we should. At least till this hypothesis is confirmed.

Gerald nodded. Fine by him. His plate was already full of prioritized questions. It hardly mattered whether the jocund-looking figure in front of him was a simulation of a simulated being, or merely concocted to look like one.

Emily suggested calling this guy “O.M.” or “Om,” for short.

Sure, why not?

He leaned forward, speaking directly and clearly toward the Artifact.

“We wish to know more about the commonwealth or society that we have been invited to join,” he said. “So I have a list of questions.”

The Oldest Member’s smile only widened. Om bowed once, in clear readiness to answer.

“First,” Gerald asked, “is there a hierarchy of rights and privileges among you? One based upon age, perhaps? Can newcomers expect limitations, joining with relatively little knowledge?”

The emissary spread his hands apart, giving an impression of self-deprecating modesty.

The eldest can expect small gestures of respect but I am obviously not one to dominate others!

Om then brought both hands forward, palm-upward.

If you join us, expect the privileges of full membership from the very start.

Gerald wasted no attention for the murmur of satisfaction that arose, behind him. He hurried on to the next question.

“Will we gain immediate access to your society’s store of information, history, technologies, and other wisdom?”

Gerald almost held his breath. Here was where he expected Elder Races to waffle, to start talking about rationing . Some technologies would be too advanced or too dangerous for youngster-newcomers. It would have to be doled out, at a pace carefully determined by-

Yes.

Gerald blinked, surprised by the simplicity. On impulse, he ignored the agreed-upon queue of questions, to follow up.