Existence (71 page)

Why? I honestly don’t know! When I wrote my scenario, I considered the possibility that some ulterior motive underlay the Group’s surface idealism. Perhaps I was a dupe and all of this would turn out to be just a publicity stunt for some new interactive game. Oh, I turned out to be a dupe, all right. But the underlying scheme was deeper, more malevolent than anything I imagined.

I’m running out of time, so let me leave all the details for later. Suffice it to say, for now, that I’m ready, even eager, to make up for my role in this crime.
It is undeniable that I broke the law … attempting a hoax to startle the world out of its modern illness.
A medicine that might have worked, if done properly.

It now seems likely that for my part in the hoax—for my sin of pride in thinking I could “save the world”—I will almost certainly spend time in jail, or worse. But it feels cleansing to get the truth out there … and to counter a plot that I now recognize as misguided, even vile.

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 fighters for truth.

As for the rest of you, please accept my humble regrets for contributing to this unfortunate disruption in your lives. Lives you all can return to, now that we—humanity—are once again alone in our universe.

52.

APPRAISAL

“… ideally, by some astronaut who was bored, burnt out, and easy to fool…”

Gerald felt all eyes swivel toward him.

“Ouch!” Genady commented. Akana audibly ground her teeth.

“Well, he accomplished one thing,” Emily murmured. “The sumbitch just vaulted from 246 to number nine in just a few minutes. The fastest fame-flame in history! Sorry, Gerald, he just streaked past you.”

“Hush,” was his only answer. None of them had picked up the first airing of Brookeman’s broadcast. By now it was ten minutes old. Almost ancient. World commentary had already tsunamied past all records, overwhelming the gisting systems. Yet the periphery of Gerald’s tru-vu seemed remarkably calm. It was set to such a high filter level that only a few, ultra high-reputation virts fluttered around the center image, a tall, slender sci-fi author, uttering his “confession” in dry, even unctuously sincere tones.

“That’s when I realized … I’d been had. In my gullibility, I had lent my services, my creativity, to a conspiracy.…”

Gerald sighed. The man was good. In fact, he had never seen the like. Right now it didn’t matter that most of the high reputation virts were glimmering phrases like
Bullshit artist!
and
Absurd!
These were comments by reputable scientists and technology experts, not the man or woman on the street.

“It is undeniable that I broke the law … attempting a hoax to startle the world out of its modern illness.”

Ben Flannery let out a sigh that was partly pure admiration.

“Do you see how that
pakeha
bastard just boosted his credibility, by playing the willing martyr card? Who would confess to a crime, if it weren’t true? I recall something…” He scratched his head. “Someone else did that recently.” Ben wasn’t wearing specs, so he didn’t get an instant answer. “Oh, but we are in for it now!”

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 Hypothesis
from 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.

SCANALYZER

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.

Around our world, we listened to a consensus sales pitch presented by the “Oldest Member”—or
Om
. A depressing tale about the poor odds for any other kind of success. Odds that appear stacked against survival for all advanced civilizations. This news came accompanied by promises of
help
. Instructions how to manufacture millions upon millions of lifeboat seeds, providing a chance of endless proliferation. For those humans who are chosen. For the lucky.

But the Contact Commission insisted on diversity—on hearing testaments from each inhabitant separately. And this diversity has put a little life back into the conversation. We’ve met individuals who once sort of resembled bats or storks or giant praying mantises … squid and vast-brainy parameciums … who showed us tantalizing glimpses of their homeworlds. Plus coordinates that we’ve now peered at with giant mirrors, confirming the presence of potential life zone planets! Though …

… in every case, astronomers
failed
to track any radiations or emanations of industrial civilization. Apparently confirming Om’s lamentable story. But more on that later.

By comparing the accounts from each Artifact denizen (those who chose to cooperate) humanity has started glimpsing the variables and similarities of smart, tool-using life. The data-dumps are frustratingly sparse—only encyclopedia-deep! (They claim that most of the crystal’s storage capacity was set aside for “more important things.”) Still, we’re learning about separate trees of life. About alternative cultures and styles of intelligence. About other ways to thrive … and other ways to fail.

Let’s hope there will be more of these interview sessions, later.

What had people transfixed—(setting aside that absurd “hoax” claim)—is the remarkable range of personalities we met! Some of the artilens were from highly regimented societies. When it came time to in-load personalities for the next great seed-dispersal, every spore took along a copy of the queen or king. (Isn’t that what Pharaoh would have done?) And the arrogance of those aristocratic passengers has apparently continued, undiminished, across the eons. (It also dropped them to the bottom of our ongoing “alien popularity poll.”)

Other societies used lotteries, or selected their “best” for in-loading. A few tried to provide one escape pod to every member of their race. All of which has sparked a rising tide of debate among humans over how
we
should allocate berths, assuming we choose to accept the offer.

Yes, that very conversation has stirred an interesting suspicion from some of the most persnickety smart-mobs out there. Consider this. By drawing the public into discussing
how
we’ll choose our human emissaries, the artilens successfully diverted our initial reaction. Our shock toward the
overall idea.
Maybe it’s a good thing the commission had to wind up its first-round of interviews and switch over to downloading technical data. Sure, those conversation sessions were frustratingly brief. But while the boffins suck down volume after volume of technical schematics, we can ponder broader questions.