The avatar smiled. “Yes, all of those inimical motivations that your fictions have ascribed to invaders, but those invaders were always merely disguised copies of invaders in your own history. Very few were developed with any sort of nod toward actual universal truths.”
“Universal truths?” Nathan asked.
“Yes.” The avatar turned and walked upon the deck, as if it were under the full acceleration of gravity. It approached a painting on the bulkhead of the mess, a likeness of the Sword of Liberty, engines blazing against the backdrop of a nebula. The automaton lightly touched the canvas and then faced them again. “What makes something valuable, Captain?”
Nathan frowned. “I don’t know. We value things for all sorts of reasons. Some for their intrinsic worth, for their value as a resource in order to fabricate something we need, or something we like. Some things are valuable because of the difficulty of obtaining them or creating them. Some are valuable because they belong to us, for sentimental reasons, or for their worth as personal property.”
The avatar gestured with its hand for him to keep going, a gesture it had no doubt copied from the thousands of video signals it had cataloged. “Yes, yes. And what does each of those measures of worth have in common? What is the universal truth that defines worth and value, no matter your culture, your species, or your planet?”
Nathan thought about his answers and what each of them shared. He looked beseechingly toward Kris, but she only shook her head and shrugged. He returned to the avatar and answered tentatively, “Rarity?”
The avatar smiled broadly. “Precisely. That which is rare or unique or is difficult to obtain, is what has value—value enough to cross light-years for. And knowing this, how valuable are simple raw resources for any society capable of expending enough of them to reach another star system?”
Nathan nodded, excited and pleased by their interaction, in spite of the hatred and revulsion he still felt toward the aliens and this vessel through which they spoke. “Given the technology you’ve already demonstrated and the sheer quantities of energy you’re expending to get to Earth, I’d imagine that raw resources are no big deal for you.”
“Certainly not. Elements and minerals are of no difficulty to obtain. With nanotechnology and other means, an asteroid can be rendered into its component elements in days, and those elements can be recombined into whatever composition we desire, with an efficiency far exceeding chemical processing. And those molecules can then be formed into whatever we desire, with greater precision and speed than any other manufacturing method. Material wealth holds no special distinction for us—it can be obtained in nearly unlimited quantities from any single star system, not just a populated one. It is the same way with energy resources. Hydrogen and helium are abundant and available wherever we travel, and that is only considering fusion as a power source. There are other, more compact and energetic forms of power that are more difficult to obtain, but not overly difficult.
“So, if your material and energy resources themselves are not rare enough to make us travel light-years for them, why would your cultural works be?”
Nathan shook his head, straining to put himself in the alien’s mind. He answered slowly, “If the only reason to travel to another star system is to obtain something rare and unique, something physical that can’t be obtained elsewhere, then I suppose the answer’s obvious: while the materials aren’t truly rare, what we do with them is … because … there’s only one human race?”
The avatar clapped its hands together. “And there you have it. Life, throughout the galaxy and perhaps the universe, is ubiquitous. It exists in most star systems in one form another, so common, yet so subtly different, that it has no intrinsic value as a biological resource for any species other than its own. Intelligent life is only slightly more unique, but again, it has no real value to any other species. Whatever discoveries it might make, whatever technology it could conceivably create is governed by universal laws common to all races. Science and technology are not unique and therefore have no value to a sufficiently advanced race, such as the Patrons.
“Art, however, has value—value beyond merely what it does or from what it is made. Every piece of art is a unique statement, a singular expression of a localized, transient idea, alone within the entirety of the universe. Each piece is shaped by any number of factors, all of which are semi-random and unlikely to be repeated exactly in any other place or time: the biology and environment of the species creating it, the mental processes of that species, the history and aesthetics that have developed within the individual culture. All of these make a race’s art—as opposed to simple materials or biology—rare and unique, and therefore of value beyond merely the species creating it.”
Edwards shook his head and sneered. “That doesn’t make any sense. Art only has value beyond its materials if you understand it, if you understand the emotions and the sentiment behind making it. Hell, I don’t give a damn for modern art, but some folks’ll pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for it. If a barrier like that exists within our own culture, why would we expect an alien culture to understand, appreciate, or value our art? I mean, to you Patrons, there wouldn’t seem to be any way to tell the relative value between a second grader’s refrigerator finger painting and a one-of-a-kind Jackson Pollack.”
The avatar glanced over at Edwards and appeared vaguely disappointed—an expression he had received from the actual Wright on many an occasion. The Master Chief bristled at the look, a look his antagonistic friend and superior would never give him again.
The statue spoke. “You assume that we are incapable of making the same distinction that you can. I will admit that an understanding of your culture and your development are necessary to properly classify your artifacts, but it is a task with which we are familiar. A child’s crude attempt at expressing its thoughts and emotions in a work of art is fundamentally different from a master-work. As a snapshot in time of an artist at that level of capability it has value, but because of the likely abundance of these ‘finger-paintings’ and because of their simplicity and coarseness, that value will be limited. If these ‘Jackson Pollacks’ are indeed rare, and if their complexity and nuance are appreciated by a large portion of your culture, trust that we will soon discover that same value.”
The avatar nodded at its own explanation, then gestured to the alien at the hatchway and stood aside. The alien brought out the imaging device it had shown them earlier, before it had killed Wright. They all moved back, away from the device, uncertain of what it was about to do.
Scintillating rainbows of light sprang out from the unit, coalescing in midair before them into a three-dimensional image. It was the Cathedral, lit from below by the drive-star, either before they had damaged it in their attack or repaired in the time since.
The avatar narrated as the image swooped in to examine the alien vessel’s gothic arches and filigreed stonework more closely. “This is the Patrons’ largest and oldest collection, that of the Keltara. The Keltara were a species quite similar to your own—bipedal oxygen breathers, builders and artisans. Their level of technology when we discovered them was the equivalent of several centuries below your own. Their various sub-cultures were in a renaissance of sorts, but none had yet experienced an industrial revolution.”
The image moved into the Cathedral. Strange sculptures and paintings of lizard-like creatures standing stooped upon their hind legs lined presentation halls and corridors. Garbled, raspy, unintelligible speech poured forth from a hologram within the alien ship, showing what they assumed to be some sort of play. The image swept on, to examine finely detailed wrought armor, ornate items of jewelry, and thousands of smaller works, from manuscripts and reliefs, to tapestries and musical instruments. The color schemes all seemed either too garish or oddly muted, designed for eyes and aesthetics accustomed to different wavelengths of visible light.