David Brin - Existence

Keeping his thoughts to himself, Gerald mused.

Are we? Any worse off than before? Thank heavens at least the Artifact was being kept busy by several technicians across the room, downloading technical information, so the alien entities weren’t getting this feed. Best to ponder how to break it to them, that they were a “hoax.”

“To the authorities, let me assure you, I’ll cooperate, tell all, and accept my fair punishment with good grace, according to the traditions of Gandhi, King, Solzhenitsyn, and the other great fighters for truth.”

Emily pounded the table and Genady groaned.

One of the nearby virt-boards still glimmered where Gorosumov had been presenting his latest theory-that the Artifact was less like a chain letter than a living species . One with an “r-type reproductive strategy,” akin to ocean creatures who spew huge numbers of larvae into ocean vastness, so very much like space-gambling that one or two might find a warm place to grow and reproduce again. A fascinating comparison-and one more reason to resent Brookeman’s bizarre interruption.

“Lives you all can return to, now that we-humanity-are once again alone in our universe.”

At last, the lanky author was finished, smiling into the camera with an artful mix of boyish bashfulness and the noble mien of a saint. The scene dissolved…

… at which point the flurry of blits crowding Gerald’s tru-vus became a storm, no matter how high the filter settings. He took off his specs and glanced across the room again-

– at the table where his famous space Artifact gleamed, surrounded by cameras and other recording devices, downloading the first wave of technical diagrams and recipes that might help humanity to make more crystal probes, eventually, if that course was chosen. Just delivering tutorials might keep the alien machine occupied for months, possibly many years.

The Oldest Member was adamant that we switch to this mode, after only a few days conversing with individual artilens. Time to get down to business, he insisted. Too bad. Taken one at a time, the passengers were varied, fascinating, puzzling… and now Hamish Brookeman claims to have written them all!

For some reason that he couldn’t pin down, Gerald had begun thinking of Om and Brookeman as two sides of a coin. As co-symptoms of a greater puzzle.

Patrice Tshombe, the expert in animal behavior manipulation, commented on what they all just witnessed. Brookeman’s public statement.

“Impressive.”

Emily whirled. “Impressive? That… that liar! We’ve analyzed the Hoax Hypothesisfrom every angle. Some of the alien technologies may not be many decades ahead of ours, but there are lots! The best labs will spend years prying them apart. No way any little cabal of do-gooder Hollywood connivers-”

“Then there’s the orbital intersection,” Genady added. “It was spiraling in from deep space, along a trajectory where no human launch ever-”

But he, in turn, was interrupted by Haihong Ming.

“Refutation is even simpler, my comrades. The stones that are exploding underground, sacrificing parts of themselves in order to cry out and be retrieved. And those that glitter from the asteroid belt. These make the concept so absurd, one has to wonder that anyone at all pays heed to this Brookeman person.”

Oh, yeah. Gerald blinked, and gave the Chinese agent a wry smile. Sometimes the most obvious thing wasn’t the first to come to mind. And yet-

“Those shattered crystals and distant glitters are terribly intangible,” Gerald admitted. “We all know there’s a large fraction of the population that has trouble with logical abstractions. It would be different if we had a second stone that worked. That would seem palpable and no one would even listen to this guy.”

There was the bigger reason to want another artifact, of course. The story that it told might be different.

“Still,” continued Haihong Ming, “I have to wonder. Why did Mr. Brookeman even try this?”

Akana shrugged. “His aim is not to convince everybody. Certainly not the savants and intelligentsia. Probably not even a majority. Rather, as we learned early in the twenty-first century, here in America, it is easy to distract a large minority of the population with illogic and conspiracy theories. Brookeman is an expert at the art of manipulating the most human of all drives-the want that propels belief.”

“But-” Emily sputtered. “But to confess a crime…”

“As Ben just pointed out, it enhances Brookeman’s credibility. Who admits to something that could mean prison, unless driven by sincere guilt? But think! If all the scientists and legal experts proclaim there was no hoax, then for what can Brookeman be jailed? For making a blatantly false public statement, when he wasn’t under oath? Every year there are crazed ravings and ‘publicity stunts’ of similar, insipid untruthfulness, and nobody goes to the slammer.

“No,” Akana shook her head. “What impresses me most is the defense mechanisms that are built into his story. Think about what will happen when he is given a lie detector test, and he’s asked ‘Did you perpetrate a hoax?’ He can truthfully declare ‘Yes, I did.’”

“Wait,” Emily said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You mean the hoax of helping to make a fake artifact, or the hoax of claiming to have made a fake artifact?”

“Exactly,” Akana said, continuing as Emily visibly struggled to keep the logic straight. “If he gets help to present concocted evidence-even poor quality help-then he’ll have a conspiracy to refer to, in his own mind. Truth and falsehood will crowd so close together, so muddled, that a bright fellow may be able to keep all the lights green or amber on a truth machine!”

Her tone of grudging admiration had the other committee members awed. Finally, Gerald asked.

“But what is he after?”

Akana closed her eyes briefly.

“You’ve got me there. Of course, more fame is always food for such a man. And, whatever else he might say, tomorrow or the next day, will be attended to by at least a third of the planet’s population. Also, he certainly has distracted the world from the funk caused by the artilens’ story-about all sapient species coming to an abrupt end. Whatever ‘solution’ Brookeman next decides to propose, you can bet it will get attention and followers.”

Of course, Gerald felt a bit put upon, to be publicly insulted by a great-big book and movie mogul. Yet, he was also detached, even amused.

If Hamish Brookeman wants to be more famous than me, he can have it.

Only… we’ll see about the “burnt out” and “easily fooled” part.

Aloud, he simply said, “Then we had better get back to work. And let’s hope that something happens to change the way this game is going.”

Only then, within the hour, something did happen. It changed the game. And Gerald reminded himself.

Be careful what you wish for.

Welcome back to our ongoing coverage of worldwide reaction to the Havana Artifact. Last week, the Contact Commission did a wise and agile thing. They demanded to hear from each of the Artifact aliens-or “artilens”-separately and individually.

Ninety-two simulated beings, representing ninety-two different alien races that once-upon-a-time looked up from planets like ours, staring at the stars and wondering if they were alone. Till they started listening to stones that fell from the sky. Till they were persuaded to bend their wills and precious resources to a great project.

Making more crystal emissaries and flinging them onward, continuing the chain. Like seeds cast forth by a dandelion. Indeed, from the dandelion’s perspective, it’s a great deal! If each flower is doomed to last for just a short month of spring, why not spread forth a thousand chances? Fresh wagers? Tiny investments in the possibility of continuity and renewal? At least, that’s the gamble chosen by a hundred or so earlier races.