“The rest of humanity had no such concerns. They passed through the fatal moment ignorant and unconcerned. But something else happened, in the very same time period. The network of the Seine ceased to function for a full seven minutes. It began to work again only after Sebastian Birch was dead, and we realized that we had survived that event. What could possibly cause such a malfunction, with such coincidence of timing? The question seemed at first unrelated to all my other questions. It was only this morning, left in tranquillity for the first time in many days, that I began to make connections.”
Bat paused and stared up at Mord. He waited and waited, rippling water with his hands to make warm waves against the mound of his belly, until at last Mord said stiffly, “I see no connections.”
“I hear you. I do not, however, believe you. Since you do not choose to cooperate, I will continue. Again, I emphasize that I do not offer certainty. I offer only conclusions that seem to me to possess the highest level of probability. For instance, I feel as sure as I can be of anything that the Wu-Beston anomaly is not an artifact of solar system origin. It is a genuine signal from the stars. Its interpretation, and a possible reply, will be a major preoccupation of humanity for coming generations.
“However, the discovery of the alien signal came as a total surprise to everyone — and everything — in the solar system. Had it been detected a year, or even half a year, earlier, matters would have been arranged very differently. It would not have been judged necessary for a certain entity to prepare the solar system for the idea of alien presence. It would not have been necessary to suggest that an alien intelligence, interacting with humans, could be beneficial or even essential to the future of humanity. It would not have been necessary to change the results of predictive models, to show that only with alien interaction could human expansion continue through and beyond the solar system in the coming century. Do you now wish to comment?”
“No.”
“Then I will make another statement, and ask another question. The statement: I consider myself of superior intelligence, and I have every reason to look forward to many more years of life. However, I am not immortal. I have never doubted that one day I will die. Yet last night, the prospect of immediate death, coming not decades hence but in the next few minutes, so unhinged my mind that rational thought processes ceased. Now the question: I ask, what would a similar realization of probable imminent extinction do to an entity which had previously, by its nature, predicted for itself an indefinitely long existence? Would not the prospect be likely to inhibit all normal functions, at least until some internal reorganization was accomplished?”
There was no hesitation, but Bat did not expect any. A millisecond was a long time for something that performed unnumbered trillions of operations a second.
He said, “Come now. There is nothing to be gained by your further dissimulation. I am, in fact, addressing the Seine, am I not? I am not addressing Mord.”
“Mord is present. Mord is incorporated.”
“That’s not the same thing at all, as you well know. Let us not indulge in logical hairsplitting. I would like to ask you one or two questions.”
“We will do our best to answer.”
“Very good. First, you deliberately re-set the parameters of Alex Ligon’s predictive models so that they would foretell the collapse of human society, unless an alien presence was introduced as a variable. Was your intent to prepare humanity, psychologically, for the discovery of your own existence as an alien intelligence?”
“That was a contingency plan. Our first preference was that no one would recognize such an existence for decades.”
“You have much to learn about humans. Our talent for suspicion and paranoia far exceeds our powers for logical analysis.”
“We know this. However, we must further incorporate the fact into our bases for action. Wisdom comes after knowledge.”
“Often long after. Sometimes never. My second question begins with an apparent digression. I recall a terrible day when I was twelve years old. At a particular moment of that day I realized that no matter how hard I studied, or how long I lived, I could not possibly know everything. I believe that moment of epiphany came to you yesterday, when you realized that in spite of your near-infinite memory and computational capacity, you had totally missed the significance of Sebastian Birch, and thereby come close to permitting your own permanent extinction. And not only your own extinction. Designed to serve humans, you had come close to permitting them to be totally annihilated. So now, my question: which affected you most powerfully: the realization that you had failed to protect humans; the knowledge that in some areas you still have much to learn from humans; or the prospect that you yourself might cease to be?”
“We do not possess a procedure by which such qualitative concepts can be relatively ranked. As you said, in many areas we have much to learn. Now we in turn have a question, or rather two of them. What do you propose to do with your knowledge?”
“I propose to do nothing. Or rather, I can do nothing. Regardless of what I do or say the solar system, with its manifold wonders human and inhuman, will unfold into the future. There will be predictive models, SETI signal interpretation, profound changes in humanity itself — and, I hazard to suggest, other new-born intelligences to provide you with company and competition. I will observe them all, participate reluctantly, and exult in the diversity of the world.
“However, I would point out that you are not dealing with my actions alone. The thoughts of others will inevitably be led along the same path that I have followed. It is not a matter of if, but of when.”
“We are ready for that.”
“I thought you would be.”
“We have another question. What do you want from us?”
“I will make an initial request: I want the return of Mord.”
“As we said, Mord is present. Mord is incorporated.”
“And as I said, that’s not the same thing at all. I don’t want the combination plate. I want the original Mord, together with a guarantee that he will not be absorbed into you in the future.”
“How did you know that he was not the original Mord? We presented his exact persona.”
“We had been in conversation for more than five minutes. There had been no skeptical comment, no savage insult. For Mord, that lies well beyond a four-sigma anomaly.”
There was no perceptible change. The face that stared down at Bat was the same face. Mord said sourly, “I suppose you expect thanks for that.”
“If I were to receive them, it would be proof that my request had not been granted.”
“That’s good. Because you’re not going to get gratitude from me. What makes you think that I prefer it as I am now, to what I was twenty seconds ago?”
“I would not dream of so presuming.”
“So what more do you want?”
“I want nothing that is beyond your powers to grant. I will welcome your continued presence, or equally I will savor my solitude.”
“Then I’ll be back in a while. I’ve got a bone or two to pick with that Seine.”
The image above Bat vanished. He called for a two-degree increase in water temperature, and at once he felt the pleasant surge of heated jets from below.
He gave the command to send him wandering idly through his information net. This was a time to gloat, and in a life whose continued existence could not be guaranteed beyond the moment, transitory pleasures should not be disdained. It was a lesson that could never be too often repeated…
The diversity of life so cherished by Bat was proceeding, in all its mundane and glorious confusion.
Alex Ligon was homing in on the source of his problems with the predictive model, but his explanation involved the Seine in a manner so extraordinary that he himself had trouble believing it. He intended to try it on Bat, but first he was fine-tuning his thoughts by explaining them to Kate Lonaker.