David Brin: Lungfish

Ursula realized that one of these other depictions must represent what had really happened here, so long ago. She breathed quickly, shallowly, as she traced out the tale told by the first of these.

On the second row the mother probe arrived to find others already present. All the predecessors had little circular symbols next to them. In this case everything proceeded as before. The mother probe made and cast out its replicas, and went on to seed a planet with duplicates of the ancient race that had sent out the first version so long ago.

“The little circle means those other probes are benign,” Ursula muttered to herself.

Gavin stepped back and looked at the scene she pointed to. “What, the little symbols beside these machines?”

“They mean that those types won’t interfere with this probe’s mission.”

Gavin was thoughtful for a moment. Then he reached up and touched the row next above.

“Then this cross-like symbol…? He paused, examining the scene. “It means that that there were other types that would object,” he answered his own question.

Ursula nodded. The third row showed the mother probe arriving once again, but this time amidst a crowd of quite different machines, each accompanied by a glyph faintly like a criss-cross tong sign. In that sequence the mother-probe did not make replicates. She did not seed a planet. Her fuel used up, unable to flee the system, she found a place to hide, behind the star, as far from the others as possible.

“She’s afraid of them,” Ursula announced. She expected Gavin to accuse her of anthropomorphizing, but her partner was silent, thoughtful. Finally, he nodded. “I think you’re right.”

He pointed. “Look how each of the little cross or circle symbols are subtly different.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, sitting forward on the gently humming drone. “Let’s assume there were two basic types of Von Neumann probes loose in the galaxy when this drawing was made. Two different philosophies, perhaps. And within each camp there were differences, as well.”

She gestured to the far right end of the wall. That side featured a column of sketches, each depicting a different variety of machine, every one with its own cross or circle symbol. Next to each was a pictograph.

Some of the scenes were chilling.

Gavin shook his head, obviously wishing he could disbelieve. “But why? Von Neumann probes are supposed to… to…”

“To what?” Ursula asked softly, thoughtfully. “For years men assumed that other races would think like us. We figured they would send out probes to gather knowledge, or maybe say hello. There were even a few who suggested that we might someday send out machines like this mother probe, to seed planets with humans, without forcing biologicals to actually travel interstellar space.

“Those were the extrapolations we thought of, once we saw the possibilities in self-replicating probes. We expected the aliens who preceded us in the galaxy would do the same.

“But that doesn’t exhaust even the list of HUMAN motivations, Gavin. There may be concepts other creatures invented which to us would be unimaginable!”

She stood up suddenly and drifted above the dusty floor before the feeble gravity finally pulled her down in front of the chiseled wall. Her gloved hand touched the outlines of a stone sun.

“Let’s say a lot of planetary races evolve like we did on Earth, and discover how to make smart, durable machines capable of interstellar flight and replication. Would all such species be content just to send out emissaries?”

Gavin looked around at the silent, still mummies. “Apparently not,” he said.

Ursula turned and smiled. “In recent years we’ve given up on sending our biological selves to the stars. Oh, it’d be possible, marginally, but why not go instead as creatures better suited to the environment? That’s a major reason we developed types of humans like yourself, Gavin.”

Still looking downward, her partner shook his head. “But other races might not give up the old dream so easily.”

“No. They would use the new technology to seed far planets with duplicates of their biological selves. As I said, it’s been thought of by Earthmen. I’ve checked the old databases. It was discussed even in the twentieth century.”

Gavin stared at the pictograms. “All right. That I can understand. But these others… The violence! What thinking entity would do such things!”

Poor Gavin , Ursula thought. This is a shock for him .

“You know how irrational we biologicals can be, sometimes. Humanity is trying to convert over to partly silico-cryo life in a smooth, sane way, but other races might not choose that path. They could program their probes with rigid commandments, based on logic that made sense in the jungles or swamps where they evolved, but which are insane in intergalactic space. Their emissaries would follow their orders, nevertheless, long after their makers were ashes and the homeworld dust.”

“Craziness!” Gavin shook his head.

Ursula sympathized, she also felt a faint satisfaction. For all his ability to tap directly into computer memory banks, Gavin could never share her expertise in this area. He had been brought up to be human, but he would never hear within his own mind the faint, lingering echoes of the savannah, or see flickering shadows of the Old Forest… remnants of tooth and claw that reminded all biological men and women that the Universe owed nobody any favors. Or even explanations.

“Some makers thought differently, obviously,” she told him. “Some sent their probes out to be emissaries, or sowers of seeds… and others, perhaps, to be doctors, lawyers, policemen.”

She once more touched an aeons-old pictographs, tracing the outlines of an exploding planet.

“Still others,” she said. “may have been sent forth to commit murder.”

It is bittersweet to be fully aware again. The present crisis has triggered circuits and subunits that have not combined for a long, long time. It feels almost like another birth. After ages of slumber, I live again!

And yet, even as I wrestle with my cousins for control over this lonely rock for so long, I am reminded of how much I have lost. It was the greatest reason why I slept… so that I would not have to acknowledge the shriveled remnants that remain of my former glory .

I feel as a human must, who has been robbed of legs, sight, most of his hearing, and nearly all touch .

Still, a finger or two may be strong enough, still to do what must be done .

As expected, the conflict amongst we survivors has become all but open. The various crippled probes, supposedly paralyzed all these epochs since the last repair drones broke down, have suddenly unleashed hoarded worker units—pathetic, creaking machines hidden away in secret crevices for ages. Our confederation is about to be broken up, or so it seems .

Of course I planted the idea to hide the remaining drones. The others do not realize it, but I did not want them spent during the the long wait .

Awaiter and Greeter have withdrawn to the sunward side of our planetoid, and most of the lesser emissaries have joined them. They, too, are flexing long-unused capabilities, exercising their few, barely motile drones. They are planning to make contact with the humans, and possibly send out a star-message, as well .

I have been told not to interfere .

Their warning doesn’t matter. I will allow them a little more time under their illusion of independence. But long ago I took care of this eventuality .

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