“Only much later, during the inevitable crisis, when they have high technology and when their minds are threatened by fomite virus memes, that’s when we’ll add the Tang Offer, teaching them how to mix and brew more types to people. To increase the diversity and wisdom of their civilization. Helping them acquire the hybrid vigor to take on all challenges.
“Plus empowering them to make the same offer to the crystals that have infected their system,” Hamish added, to prove he understood all this. “Luring cooperation from many of the virus entities.”
“We carry the schematics and knowledge needed to do all that, Hamish, adjusting and adapting the designs to fit local conditions. But our plan counts on locals doing all the physical work!
“Also, that’s the only moral way. It solves the ethical dilemma of the old seeder probes, whose plan to colonize Earth would have ruined our planet’s chance to evolve sapients of its own. This way, a world gets to make its own smart race first. And only then-by their own choice-do they invite others to join them, creating an outpost of cosmopolitan, galactic civilization.”
Hamish blinked at Lacey’s stunning version of the Cure. He had never looked at it quite so grandly before. She sure thought on an impressive scale.
“Terrific!” he nodded. “So for the sake of our mission-”
“The point is, I find it unlikely that Earth would have crammed a package full of teensy bioreactors, that would only decay or go obsolete anyway, across millions of years. We’ll teach. We aren’t meant to do it ourselves.”
Feeling deflated, Hamish found nothing to say, except a grunt of soft disappointment, like he always felt when one of his cool ideas got shot down.
He turned and saw that they were slowing. Approaching a cluster of figures at the aft end of the great crystal ship, where the ceiling’s descending arc became almost a vertical wall. As had been the case at the ship’s opposite end, a handful of human figures mingled with aliens near some holo and twodee displays.
He let out a sigh, turning back to Lacey and Om.
“All right then. So the box doesn’t have directly to do with the Cure. Still, this means our vessel is larger and more capacious than your typical crystal probe. It also comes equipped with tools and ways to interact with the world. That’s great! We won’t be helpless. This should improve our chances of mission success. Right?”
Something about Om’s reaction seemed off. Too muted or reserved.
“I suppose that is true, my friend,” answered the alien entity. “The odds may go up, for this particular probe.”
“And the other ten million just like it?”
“They, too, will benefit, if they were dispatched so-equipped.”
“So. Then. What’s the problem?”
Hamish looked to Lacey, who lifted her shoulders. “I believe Om considers the extra expense to be a foolish waste.”
The Oldest Member nodded. “Exactly so, my lady. Ten or twenty smaller, cheaper models could be made and cast across space for the cost-in time, effort, and resources-that went into making and equipping our lavish vessel.”
“But you just said that our own chances of success were greater.”
“By a very small factor. Perhaps they doubled. An insignificant amount.”
“Double is insignificant?”
“Remember that each probe is like a grain of pollen, cast into the wind! Triumphal achievement of our overall mission-spreading the Cure-will depend far more on numbers than on any one probe, Mr. Brookeman.
“It will call for… it will require… vast quantities. Immense numbers.”
Hamish felt a strange sensation, like numbness, pass across his face.
Vast quantities… Oh.
His expression was one that Om misinterpreted, despite decades of experience with humans.
“Do not worry, my friend. A lot of new sapients pass through this phase, lavishing excess care and attention upon their first wave of probes. They soon get over it and switch over to a more efficient approach.”
For once at a complete loss for words, Hamish turned to Lacey Donaldson. But she was busy piloting her little craft toward a landing. Causing it to match-in both location and size-the figures ahead, who were gathered around some very mundane-looking displays, near the very aft end of the ship. Where the vertical crystal barrier came into direct contact with the mysterious, boxy cargo compartment.
Trying hard to shake off a terrible sinking feeling, Hamish focused on the people who were turning now to greet them, as the travel disc melted into the floor of a glassy plain. First came a pair of humans he did not recognize and whose names meant little to him. Experts in optics and instrument design, he gathered. The third entity was far more interesting.
Courier of Caution, emissary from a planet called Turbulence, where one race saw through the trap of the fomite plague and tried to come up with a solution. Its own early, primitive version of the Cure. Sending out capsules with the aim of helping new species, alerting them to the danger.
Hamish glanced at his guide-his Virgil-the Oldest Member. These two (or different, earlier versions of them) once fumed, strutted, and hurled accusations at each other, during the first of the Great Debates between various crystal probes. An exercise that edified humanity and helped make a big difference. A crucial first step down the twisty path that threaded minefields, leading (perhaps) to survival.
At least that was what Hamish had believed… till just minutes ago, when a dire suspicion was born, like a wasp within his mind.
If he expected fireworks or friction between Courier and Om, they showed no sign of animosity. Well, weren’t they now sworn to the same mission? The same sacred goal? Helping to spread an antidote to poison.
Courier stepped up to Lacey. The creature’s bullet head and throbbing eye-strip had been less endearing than Om’s Buddha-like appearance, during those first debates. But the artilen’s blunt dedication and honesty won hundreds of millions of hearts.
“Well?” Courier asked.
Lacey shook her head.
“Birdwoman wants to calculate some more. But that’s how she deals with stress. Just crunching more numbers won’t make a difference. I’m afraid it’s pretty conclusive.”
“What’s conclusive?” Hamish asked.
Both Courier and Lacey turned to look at Hamish. He could not read the artilen’s expression. The woman was clearly torn. She started to speak-
– but was interrupted, by a voice that came from behind Hamish.
“Brothers and sisters, why be reticent? Even newly wakened, this here mon is no frail. Tell him de truth now. Or let me.”
No, Hamish murmured to himself. Please don’t let it be…
Turning around, he found his dread justified. A dark human figure approached, almost as tall as he was, but with “hair” consisting of snakelike tendrils, waving and emitting random puffs of aromatic smoke. Despite many other virtual augmentations-a bare, bristly chest and a softening of the man’s famously excessive island dialect-Hamish recognized the newcomer instantly.
Professor Noozone offered a cheshire grin and arms wide in welcome.
“Coo-yah, Mass Brookeman. How nice of ye to join us. I hope you will find today’s news adequately ‘significant’ to justify your wakeup call.”
Hamish clenched his fists over the ribbing, but maintained surface calm. “Will somebody please tell me?”
“Sure thing, mon,” Profnoo replied, the grin fading into a merely wry smile.
“You see, we had been scheduled for another laser boost, to fill our sail an’ accelerate us boojum-faster across space interstell-ar. But it never came, y’know. Nor has any explanation come to us by narrowbeam radio.