David Brin - Existence

Tor could understand even the warped logic of the makers of the Harm probes. Paranoid creatures who wanted no competition among the stars. Only what happened when, inevitably, the Harm type mutated, after many generations making copies under the sleeting radiation of interstellar space? Might there come a day when new versions met their original makers… and failed to recognize them?

Was that responsible for the devastation here in the asteroid belt? But even Harm, Tor came to realize, had been consigned to one side of the rock carving, as if history had passed it by. The main part of the frieze depicted machines whose purposes weren’t simple to interpret. Perhaps professional decipherers-archaeologists and cryptologists-would do better.

Somehow, Tor doubted it.

Our sun is younger than average, she noted . And so must be the Earth. And so are we.

Humanity had come late upon the scene. And the galaxy had a big head start.

Lurker Challenge Number Thirteen

All right, possibilities go on and on. And you alien lurkers could find gaps between our logic, ways to quibble and evade by claiming “oops, you just missed!” If that’s the kind of folks you are.

Still, let’s end this on a generous note, with one of the more recent suggested variations. Suppose you’ve monitored our TV, radio-and now our Internet- and the reason you haven’t answered is that you’re damaged.

Well, in that case, you can hardly be blamed for silence. So please accept this assurance.

Help is on the way!

We Earthlings have begun to explore nearby space. If you’re not too deeply hidden, we should come upon you in due course. We hope to make peaceful contact and learn your needs.

If you are incapacitated, and our explorers feel you mean no mischief, they will surely render you whatever aid they can, and call on the resources of our civilization to bring more.

Do try to find a way to let us know where you are and what you need.

If you’re lost and far from home, welcome to our small part of this enormous universe. We offer whatever warmth and shelter we have to share.

How bittersweet to be fully aware again. The present crisis is bringing back to life circuits and subunits that haven’t combined for a very long time. It feels almost like another birth.

After ages of slumber, I live again!

Yet, even as I wrestle with my cousins for control over this lonely rock that was our common home, I’m reminded how much I’ve lost. It was the great reason why I slept… so as not to acknowledge my shriveled state, compared to former glory.

I feel as a human must, who has been robbed of limbs, sight, most of his hearing, and nearly all touch. (Is this one more reason I identify with Tor Povlov?) Still, a finger or two may be strong enough yet, for what must be done.

As expected, conflict among the survivors is now all but open. Various crippled probes, supposedly paralyzed all these epochs, have unleashed hoarded worker units-pathetic, creaking machines that were hidden in secret crevices, now laboring hard, preparing for confrontation. Our confederation is about to break up. Or so it seems.

Of course I planted the idea to hide our remaining drones. I did not want them spent or used up during the long interregnum.

Awaiter and Greeter have withdrawn to the sunward pole, along with most of the lesser emissaries. They, too, are flexing long-unused capabilities, exercising their few motile drones. They plan to contact the humans and possibly send a star-message, as well. I’ve been told not to interfere.

Their warning doesn’t matter. I’ll give them a bit more time. An illusion of independence. But this eventuality was already taken into account.

As I led the battle to prevent Earth’s destruction, long ago, I’ve also intrigued to keep it undisturbed. The Purpose won’t be thwarted.

Waiting here, I see that our rock’s slow rotation now has me looking upon the sweep of dust clouds and hot, bright stars that humans quaintly call the Milky Way. Many of the stars are younger than I am.

How long have I watched the galaxy turn! For ages, while my mind moved at the slowest of subjective rates, I could follow the spiral arms swirl visibly past, twice bunching for a brief megayear into sharp shock fronts where molecular clouds swirled and massive stars were born, only to end their short lives in glorious supernovae. The sense of movement, of rapid travel, was magnificent! Even though I was only being swept along by this system’s little sun, at times I could imagine I was young again, an independent probe, hurtling through a strange starscape toward the unknown.

Now, as thoughts move more quickly, the bright pinpoints have frozen in place, part of a still backdrop, as if hanging in expectancy, nervously awaiting what happens next. It is a strange, arrogant imagining-as if the universe cares what happens in this obscure corner, or will notice who wins a skirmish in the long, long war.

Thinking fast, I feel almost like my biological friend whose tiny ship cruises by now, only light-seconds away, separated by just two or three tumbling rocks! While I prepare a surprise for my erstwhile companions, it is possible to spare a pocket of my mind and follow her progress… to appreciate her spark of youth.

Perhaps I should have acted to prevent her report, the delivery of her sample trove. It would make my own work easier if humans came here innocent, unsuspecting.

Soon, very soon, these planetoids will swarm with all the different varieties of humans-from true biologicals to resurrected cousins to cyborgs to pure machines and even creatures that were given sapience as a promethean gift. This strange solution to the Maker Quandary-this turning of makers into the probes themselves-will shortly arrive, a frothing mass of multiformed human beings.

They’ll be wary. Thanks to her, they’ll sense a few edge-glimmers of the Truth. Well, it’s only fair. They would have needed that advantage to have a chance with Rejectors, or even Loyalists. They will need every insight, to survive the crystal plague.

And they’ll need their wits when they encounter me.

A stray thought bubbles to the surface, invading my mind like a crawling glob of helium three.

I can’t help but picture something happening, perhaps in a far portion of the galaxy. My own family-my line of probes, or others like it-could have made some discovery, or leap of thought, beyond all that I assume. Or maybe a new generation of replicant-being emerged, godlike in omniscience and power. Either way, might they have chosen another course by now? Could a new tactic or immunity have overcome the Plague? Might some unforeseen strategy of mind take matters to a new level?

Is it possible that my Purpose has become obsolete, as Rejectionism and Loyalism grew redundant?

Oh, it’s clear what happened. The human concept of progress pollutes my thoughts. Still I can’t help feeling intrigued. To me the Purpose is so clear, for all its necessary, manipulative cruelty-too subtle and long-viewed for other, more primitive probes.

And yet…

… yet I can envision (vaguely) a new generation coming up with something as advanced and incomprehensible to me as the Replicant War must seem to humans. A discomforting thought, still I toy with it, like a shiny-dangerous bauble.

Oh yes, humans affected me. I enjoy this queer sensation! As never before meeting them, I now savor uncertainty. Suspense.

The noisy, multiformed tribe of humans will be here soon.

My name is Seeker and I expect interesting times.