In the center, chains of letters spiraled outward from that single tentacle. This time, words unrolled without jumble or interference, proceeding distinctly enough to activate the sonic interface. A voice emerged, sounding raspy and upset.
… we have come in friendship… across the vast and empty desert… with an offer of ultimate value… so why do you torment us?
Akana sighed with evident satisfaction.
“Okay, Gerald. You’re on.”
He leaned forward. No longer was it necessary to write directly on the ovoid surface with a pointed finger. Not so long as he enunciated clearly, speaking directly at the stone-from-space.
“We find your chaotic behavior disturbing,” he said. “While we appreciate the value of diversity, we require some degree of orderliness-or courtesy-if this conversation is to get anywhere. That can happen in either of two ways.”
He paused, as the linguistic adviser had recommended, if things ever got to this phase. Better to let the aliens ask. After several more seconds, the being that resembled a terrestrial cephalopod did just that. A slender tendril wrote-and the audio speakers interpreted-
What two ways?
Gerald spoke slowly and clearly.
“Either by taking turns, letting each individual have an allotted time to converse with us… or else by appointing one or more among you to represent the whole community.
“Frankly, we’d prefer both methods. But first the representative. It is time, at last, to clarify the nature of your mission here and what great commonwealth we are being invited to join.”
Sucker-tipped tendrils churned and writhed.
I recall… we used to do things… that way…
Gerald nodded, as did Ben and Emily. One theory held that the aliens’ disorderly behavior was the natural outcome of eons spent in isolation, drifting through space. A stupefying test of endurance that might demolish any former sanity.
I shall endeavor to persuade the others to… cooperate.
The squidlike being turned-the centauroid and bat-thing and Buddha and insectoid revolved to face it, as if intending to talk things over-
– and the scene began to dissolve into confusion, once more, as some on the periphery formed a wedge, joining forces to power their way through, driving hard to get into the foreground.
“Cut it off!” Akana commanded. The Artifact was plunged again into dark chill.
I hope the thing’s crystal structure can stand these wild swings of hot and cold, Gerald thought. It never had to deal with such rapid oscillations in space. The advisory icon, Hermes, had made that very point, at length.
Gyrating clouds could still be seen, agitated by dim figures, grappling in the virtual depths underneath the Artifact’s surface. So vigorous was the action at first, that Gerald worried. Might emulated beings do actual damage to each other, maybe even cause death? It certainly happened in some human-designed game worlds.
“They’re slowing down,” he commented.
The brief tussle did seem to quickly sap whatever skimpy energy reserves remained in there. Through the mist, they saw the figures let go of each other and start to slump. Gerald leaned closer and squinted. After a minute, he diagnosed.
“I think… I think some of them are talking to each other.”
“Now,” said General Hideoshi. “Ramp up the sunlamp to ten percent, Patrice. Reward this.”
“I shall do so,” Tshombe replied. “With great care.”
The beam returned, and Gerald saw it break into components, each shining where a cluster of alien figures appeared-at some distance-to engage in conversation. While Gerald watched, these groups seemed to gain strength and animation. When a couple of them broke up, it was only to reconfigure, as individuals moved on to engage others.
“Could it actually be working?” asked Genady Gorosumov, who had been skeptical about this approach.
“Perhaps they are rediscovering a knack they had forgotten, during the long, dull voyage across so many light-years,” commented Ben Flannery. “After all, it must take a lot of cooperation-and courtesy-to maintain a vast and ancient civilization. What we have been seeing may be the behavior of brilliant and civilized minds, when they are far from their best, still drowsy, not yet fully roused from a long, cold sleep.”
It was a good theory. In fact, the most popular one. Still, Emily Tang seemed to enjoy tweaking Ben now and then. “So, we’re like the nurse who slaps you hard, for your own good? To get a lazy slug-a-bed to wake up?”
Flannery frowned. But any retort was cut off when Tshombe said-
“Regardez, mes amis! A delegation, at last. It arrives.”
All eyes turned to the Artifact-or nearby amplification screens-where something was clearly happening. A formation of more than a dozen alien figures approached through mists that now obediently parted, leaving them a clear path forward. And behind that group came another, even larger contingent, keeping what seemed a respectful distance.
Well, Gerald noted. They do seem to have finally got their act together.
Now, at last, we may get the full story.
Who would think that the biggest problem of First Contact would turn out to be one of personality. Of disorganization. Or immaturity.
But perhaps the worst is behind us, now.
According to the Medea Hypothesis, many of Earth’s mass extinctions were perpetrated by life itself.
Sure, the dinosaurs were wiped out by a random asteroid. Some other die-offs came from impacts or volcanic activity. Yet, Earth’s greatest calamity-the Kirschvink Glaciation of 650 million years ago, when ice covered the whole planet from pole to equator-was caused by sea algae pumping oxygen into the air while depleting CO2, plunging Earth into a deep freeze. And life-human civilization-may be doing the opposite right now. Our greenhouse overheating shows there are limits to the biosphere’s famed ability to self-correct.
Life can get out of hand, as when cancer cells destroy the organism that nurtures them. So, is that humanity’s analog? “Cancer” to the living globe? Was Earth’s recent die-off in diversity and biomass wrought by life’s own “biocidal” tendency? What if the Medea Hypothesis extends beyond this planet, to all living worlds?
On the other hand, life on Earth never before had the capacity to look at itself. To notice what it’s doing. And perhaps take corrective action. Is that humanity’s true role?
Short-sighted selfishness isn’t new. All creatures do that. We’re the first to perceive the slippery slope. To contemplate our self-made paths to hell. What we do about it will define whether we’re truly sapient. Whether we’re a cancer to Mother Earth… or her new brain. Her conscience.
– Maturation’s Code
40.
Hamish fumed. The Prophet made a point of inviting me here, to help forge a historic alliance. Now I’m snubbed, while power brokers gather behind closed doors.
It took just a moment for his illusion of self-importance to collapse.
Hamish had been sitting near the back of an auditorium-theater, in the sprawling Glaucus-Worthington mansion, trying to find a comfortable position for his long legs while intellectuals from Tenskwatawa’s Renunciation Movement compared notes with scholars employed by the consortium of rich families called the clade. If they were going make common cause, the boffins who served both groups must get their stories straight. There was plenty to discuss-