David Brin - Existence

“That’s it?

“You mean all of it? Right away?

Certainly. All of it. Why not?

“And what will be required of us, in exchange?” Gerald asked next. Many anxious discussions had flurried over the issue of payment, should the aliens ask for it. Would it be in the form of Earthling culture, music, literature, to be beamed to their homeworlds? Or in services? Or (according to Ben Flannery’s model) committing to a particular belief system?

Not that quid pro quo was unreasonable, in principle. But some members of the committee were mindful of the price of Manhattan Island.

In exchange, we ask nothing except that you act in your own self-interest maximizing your own potential to survive. To continue and to replicate down the ages of time. If you seek this, we shall help. We offer the means of survival.

A crescendo of virts pressed in from all sides. Excited comments and queries with high relevance scores, gisted from people or groups with peerless reputations. Each seemed to press a different aspect of the “survival” issue-some desperate matter that might be improved with alien science and methods.

Overcoming environmental damage to the planetary ecosystem.

Solving the water and energy shortages.

Decoding the riddle of life and disease.

Deciphering mysteries of the mind.

Resolving conflict and putting an end to violence.

Answers about God and salvation.

Confronting the riddle of death.

The lattermost had already been promised, enticingly. Now details appeared to be imminent.

But Gerald knew that it was too soon to get into specifics. Not wanting to play devil’s advocate, he still could not stop himself from following the pull of his own curiosity.

“But… aren’t you concerned that we might… misuse some of the most advanced…” Gerald noticed Akana shaking her head and motioning for him not to go there. But surely the thought was on everyone’s mind. “… That we might misuse some of the most advanced technologies?”

Such things happen. But the knowledge that we share should ensure your survival. And most of the problems that now vex you should vanish like a bad memory.

While most people reacted positively to that response, with smiles and sighs, Gerald caught a warning glance from Akana, not to diverge from the script again without consulting her. He nodded and cleared his throat, then spoke straight from the list.

“Please tell us about the federation of worlds that we are invited to join.”

Gerald saw his sentence enter the Artifact as a string of letters that divided and mutated into more than seven dozen different streams of characters, each zeroing in upon a different alien figure. At first Om-the Oldest Member-simply kept on smiling, as a rustle spread among the varied beings who stood, sat, squatted, perched, or lay behind him. But it quickly became apparent that something was different, this time.

The English version of Gerald’s question still floated, above the throng.

Please tell us about the federation of worlds that we are invited to join.

The creatures in the background were turning to one another, as if disturbed. Not angry or excited… perhaps confused was a better term. This soon manifested in the way that Om, standing up front, appeared to scratch the side of his head. The transcendent smile lapsed, somewhat.

Non sequitur. There is no federation of worlds.

Silence reigned in the Contact Center, and among the advisers behind the quarantine glass. It apparently prevailed far beyond, as well, since the storm of virts stopped whirling and trying to encroach from the periphery of Gerald’s percept. Most of them faded, as their authors lost interest. Or the glowing virtual messages dispersed like evaporating dew when ainalysis engines deemed them no longer top-relevant.

Gerald glanced at Ben Flannery, who nodded back at him. The Hawaiian anthropologist looked vindicated, yet saddened, as if he had hoped to be wrong. Alone on Earth, the two of them knew the likely alternative-the situation that prevailed out there instead of a federation.

Gerald made it the basis for an ad hoc question.

“Then please tell us about your loose interstellar affiliation of species-the alliance that dispatched you to share cultural values.”

Again, confusion caused a ripple among the ninety or so ersatz beings. This time they answered more swiftly through Om, whose expression seemed a bit irked.

There is no alliance or affiliation of species. I already told you this.

Gerald winced. It was the first time the alien envoy had rebuked him.

No you did not tell me that, he thought.

Earlier you said there was no “competition” among species. You said that competition could never happen.

We took that to mean no war. Or no easy physical travel. Or both.

But this is something else. “Affiliation” is a mild and tepid-friendly word. It can stand for anything… including Ben’s loose culture groups.

And you say there isn’t even that?

Gerald’s heart was beating harder now, from involuntary surges of adrenaline. He did not want to follow where this was leading.

“But,” he began. “But we see an affiliation of many species before our eyes right now. Also, you refer to we and us and to our community… ”

This time the Buddha smile crept back and the Oldest Member spoke without waiting.

We do, indeed, have a community. One of peace and adventure! It offers you a wondrous opportunity for your survival. For exploration and perpetual existence.

Gerald felt an awful sense of realization that had been creeping upon him for some time. There was a basic misunderstanding that he now saw suddenly-one that had been rooted, all along, in a flaw in the English language.

No federation of worlds … and no affiliation of species.

That left only one possibility.

Without willing himself to do so, he stood up from his chair while facing the Artifact that he had pulled out of cold space.

He tapped himself on the chest.

“M-me?”

He had to swallow before continuing.

“All this time you were talking about… talking to… me ?”

Naturally, given your importance. You and other leaders who make decisions and allocate resources.

It was all Gerald could manage, numbed by realization, to move on.

“Individuals,” he said, for clarification. “It’s not about worlds or species or societies, or even cultural groups, but individual entities?”

He could picture millions of libertarians, out there, having their aha! moment of joyous vindication. For as short as it would last.

How could it be otherwise? Yes, one individual at a time. Though as many as your overall survival plan and dedication will allow.

The Oldest Member’s smile was wide and angelic once again, beaming with generosity. But Gerald ignored that, just as he pushed aside the murmurs penetrating through the quarantine glass. His specs filled with a tornado of distractions, so he yanked them off as well, facing the moment bare-faced. Bare-eyed.

“Survival…,” he said, and pointed at the Artifact.

“You mean… in there ?”

He was breathing hard and fought to slow down.

“You mean inside that crystal cylinder… That is where it all would happen? That’s where you’re offering survival and life everlasting ?”