“Glad you understand.”
“I especially like poetry,” Seth continued. “It renders communication in a very compressed, figurative manner. Some of it is highly efficient in conveying ideas in few words.”
“It’s like music to humans.”
“I’m deaf, as you may recall, but I understand the mathematics of your diatonic scale. Some species communicate solely through music and would appreciate the nuances of Mozart.”
“Does your planet have anything like poetry? I can’t imagine poetry being digital in nature.”
“Digital communication can be whatever we want it to be. English, for example. But no, we don’t have poetry and never have. We had legends millennia ago, which are archived in the minds of the collective. They’re more of a factual history of our planet and its development than anything else, but it has a mathematical cadence in its coding that is similar to what you call meter in poetry.”
“Some human legends might be considered factual, although greatly embellished for dramatic effect.”
“Like your fiction?” Seth said. “That puzzles me. Why do people on Earth go to the trouble of making up false scenarios? Why not simply record facts?”
Joshua sat back and stared at the sphere, wondering how he could answer the question in a manner that Seth would appreciate. This was exactly the kind of detail that the personal team was charged with handling.
“Fiction gives us pleasure, but more importantly, the greatest fiction conveys truths about the human condition. Many of our finest books seek to facilitate a better future for humanity by assessing its values and shared cultural experiences. Hopefully, good fiction tells the truth about what it means to be human.”
There was a pause in the communication, and Joshua wondered if Seth’s curiosity was especially piqued by the response or whether he was passing on the answer to others in the collective.
“Yes, truth and the future,” Seth finally said. “Important concepts. Tell me, Josh—where do humans see themselves in the future? What are your planet’s plans for the years ahead?”
Joshua scratched his head at the unanticipated question, which was of a far more speculative and philosophical nature than any that Seth usually posed.
“We don’t really think that far ahead, Seth, at least not most of us. We do have a few visionary figures who talk about life centuries from now, but most of us wake up every morning and manage life one day at a time with an eye as to what may happen next month or next year. In some cases we look to our old age, although most of us try to put that off. I think it’s one of our shortcomings that we don’t plan far enough ahead—an inherent flaw of our species—but it’s a human characteristic.”
Joshua knew that General Porter wouldn’t approve of his admittance that humans were flawed creatures, but it was an honest answer and the only one that came to mind. Besides, given Seth’s unexpected interest about the planet’s future, he considered it important to delve into the issue. It was, after all, part of his mission.
“Why do you ask, Seth?”
“Curiosity. It’s a natural question, don’t you think?”
“Yes, it certainly is.”
The exchange was the latest during which Joshua believed that Seth was getting at something more specific and that he was withholding the reason for asking a question.
“What about your species?” Joshua asked. “What does the collective see in its future?”
“I’m afraid that’s redacted.”
“Huh? Oh, wait. I get it. Your future is tied to your advanced technology, and you can’t share that with us.”
“I think that’s a reasonable assumption.”
He’s being damned evasive, Joshua thought. Assumption? A simple yes or no would have sufficed.
“Are Vinod and Rachael with you?”
“No, just me down here right now,” Joshua replied. “They should be here soon.”
“Soooo?” Seth asked, drawing out the word as if Joshua should know what he was getting at.
“So what?” Joshua replied.
“So have you asked her yet?”
Joshua looked around the room to make sure no technician was standing in the corner before replying in a hushed voice. “No, I haven’t asked her yet. You know that’s just between you and me, right? I want it to be a surprise for her.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I made sure you were alone before I brought it up. When you ask her, you have to make sure to record the exact time down to the second for me.”
“Why?”
“The collective has a wager going.”
“Doesn’t the collective have better things to do than betting on when Rachael and I get engaged?”
“Sure, but we find your courtship very interesting and entertaining. So much of your literature involves mating rituals and coupling.”
“Glad we can be your sideshow,” Joshua replied sarcastically. “What does the winner get? I know you don’t have anything like money.”
“Just notoriety, which is actually something valuable in a collective of over thirteen trillion individuals.”
The response was almost comedic in its content, and yet it made perfect sense.
Joshua was amazed that a species that had evolved beyond emotions still, in Seth’s own words, accessed them occasionally. And notoriety indicated pride. For all his vast intelligence, Seth at times struck Joshua as possessing an almost human temperament.
More importantly, though, he wondered if the collective’s interest in mating rituals was related to Seth’s question about where humanity saw itself in the future. After all, marriage and procreation always pointed in that direction. While Seth was adamant about not sharing technology, he had more than a passing curiosity about the destiny of human beings. But there was something even more unusual contained in Seth’s remarks. The entire collective was fascinated with the mating of two specific individuals: Joshua Andrews and Rachael Miller. He knew better than to ask Seth outright what he was getting at, however. He was beginning to know in advance when Seth would be evasive and when he would not.
“Any progress on creating spookyons?” Seth asked, abruptly changing the subject.
“No, not yet,” Joshua replied with a sigh. “You know, it would really help if you could give me a hint on what we’re doing wrong.” His voice was laced with good-natured sarcasm.
“No can do, Josh,” Seth replied.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Joshua remarked. “I know. Your prime directive.”
“Prime directive?”
“Reference TV show, 1960s, Star Trek,” Joshua answered, knowing that Vinod had told him once that some of Star Trek had made it into the original information sent to Seth.
“Got it. Very apropos.”
Joshua heard the elevator doors open and saw Rachael and Vinod walking towards him. Vinod was dressed in jeans and a U2 tee shirt with an album cover from their Joshua Tree album.
“Rachael and Vinod have graced us with their presence,” Joshua announced.
“’Sup, Rach?” Seth asked. “’Sup Vinod.”
While Vinod and Seth referred to Rachael as “Rach,” Joshua had grown accustomed to referring to her by her full Christian name and stuck with it. Besides, “Rach” was too awkward to suit his own taste. The abbreviation, he thought, was more appropriate for a sibling or longtime friend. Rachael was the woman he’d fallen in love with, and Rachael, he decided, was who she would remain.
“Good morning, everyone,” Rachael said as she and Vinod took seats on either side of Joshua.
Joshua glanced at Vinod’s shirt. “Hey, you’re wearing my tree.”
“Yup. I hope you feel honored.”
“You ready to start, Seth?” Rachael said as she opened her laptop.
“Sure,” Seth replied. “You want to begin, or you want me to?”
“I've got some questions jotted down, so I'll go first,” Rachael said.
“Fire away,” came Seth’s response.
“This is NASA
session number 103,” Rachael announced. “Rachael Miller, Dr. Joshua Andrews, and Vinod Bhakti present. Seth, first question. You’ve told us that there is intelligent life on other planets that is not of your species. Is there a way for us to talk to these other beings using our spookyon connection with you?”
“Yes, it’s technically possible,” Seth replied. “We can use two separate spookyon connections to relay data between you and another species, but our ethical rules prohibit this. You know, the prime directive and all.”
“Prime directive?” Rachael asked.
“I had Seth reference Star Trek before you two walked in,” Joshua explained.
“Sweet,” Vinod remarked. “Prime directive. We’ll make a Trekkie out of you yet, Seth.”
“Got it,” Rachael said. “Okay, next question. Why can’t we speak to someone else in the collective besides you? It might give us a greater feel for the degree of individuality you said exists within the collective despite its connected structure.”
“Well, as I told you when we first made contact, my thoughts flow to everyone else in the collective and theirs back to me, so it would be unnecessary. I’ve been assigned as your personal ambassador. It’s how we do things.”
“If that’s the case,” Joshua said, “then why don’t you disconnect from the collective whenever you talk with the three of us. You could reconnect with the collective when you speak with the scientific teams. It would allow you to interact with us on a more personal level. One on one, so to speak.”
“Or one on three,” Seth corrected. “Yes, I can do that. I’ve now disconnected from the collective.”
It always amazed the humans how Seth and the collective could make important decisions such as this in an instant. There was no need for a lengthy debate and decision making. The collective seemed to be a true democracy, with choices posed to all of its members and decided instantaneously.
Joshua typed a note on his laptop: It’s how things are done. Seth made it sound as if contact with other civilizations was routine, and maybe it was for his planet after billions of years of looking for signals via spookyons. Still, the phrase stood out for him. Joshua suddenly felt as if his home world was nothing but a hillbilly planet in the backwaters of the universe. Earth was not a place that was in on the secret of how things were done. He wondered if any of the teams would ever come close to learning anything truly substantive about Petri. Would they have to wait a billion years? The idea was disconcerting.
The phrase bothered Joshua at a deeper level. It implied a standard protocol for the many contacts that the petrins made, but protocols for what? He was certain that he was missing something, but his ruminations were abruptly turned away by the sound of Seth’s always-inquisitive voice.
“My turn?” Seth asked.
“Sure, go ahead,” Rachael replied as she entered notes in her laptop.
“What is the status of your current viral outbreak?”
Joshua looked somberly at Vinod and Rachael before answering. “It's not good, Seth. It's not good at all. There are now forty-nine separate outbreaks, mostly located throughout Asia, the Middle East, and Africa. There are outbreaks in Europe and South America, and just two days ago new cases were discovered in the U.S. in Dallas.”
“So you haven't been able to contain the spread?” Seth asked.
“No,” Vinod replied. “None of the isolation techniques we've used in previous Ebola outbreaks seems to work. In fact, our scientists are not sure that this virus is even Ebola. Some of the symptoms are Ebola-like, but its transmission seems to be very different. The scientists still haven’t been able to isolate and culture it in the lab which is really the first step in trying to formulate a treatment.”
“Frankly, Seth,” Rachael said, “many people are starting to panic, and in some areas lawlessness has ensued, which, as you can imagine, is counterproductive when you're trying to contain an outbreak. It's really scary.”
“How many have died?” Seth asked, clearly interested in the factual aspects of the outbreak.
“Thousands,” Joshua responded.
“Sorry to hear that,” Seth replied. “Being an immortal species, death is not something we are accustomed to, though we have encountered it in other species.”
“Unfortunately,” Rachael said, “death is a part of human life. I learned that the hard way when I was ten.”
Joshua turned to Rachael. He and Vinod knew what she was talking about but were surprised that she was prepared to reveal it to Seth. He reached out and grabbed Rachael’s hand to offer comfort.
“What happened?” Seth asked.
Rachael sat silently. Over the past several months, she, Joshua, and Vinod had grown fond of Seth. He had become a friend rather than a research subject. Indeed, some of their conversations were characterized by a very personal tone. This was exactly what Robert Langdon had hoped for since the entire purpose of their team was to interact with Seth on a less technical level.
“When I was born, I had a twin brother,” Rachael finally began. “His name was Richard. We were best buddies and did everything together. When he was nine, he was diagnosed with a type of cancer called Ewing’s sarcoma. Despite the doctors’ best efforts, he wasn’t able to be cured, and Richard died when we were ten. It was a very traumatic time for me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Seth replied. “Thank you for sharing this with me. Cancer is really a defect in the force that creates life.”
“What do you mean by that?” Vinod asked.
“As you know, reproduction is an essential part of growth and evolution,” Seth said. “But unrestricted reproduction leads to a loss of differentiation, whether you’re talking about an organism or an entire society. This loss of differentiation ultimately causes the death of either the organism or a society. Cancer is the unrestricted reproduction of a cell and leads to the eventual destruction of the organism. We would consider your Ebola virus as a cancer as well, with the difference being that this form of cancer is metastatic outside the host, not just inside. But whether you’re speaking about cancer from Ewing’s sarcoma or Ebola, the culprit is still unrestricted reproduction. This is why we have strict rules on reproduction, especially on that of sentient organisms.”
“What’s your definition of sentient organisms?” Joshua asked, noting that Seth had segued into deep waters. And not for the first time, he had raised the issue of reproduction.
“We consider sentience not an absolute quality, but an accumulated quantity. Every organism has some level of sentience, but as they, or more specifically their brains, get more complex, their level of sentience increases. When we require an absolute definition of sentience, such as for our rules of reproduction, we have to pick an arbitrary point on this range.”
“So for this reproduction rule, where do you draw that line?” Rachael asked. “What do you consider sentient?”
“I’d say it’s somewhere between a bacterium and a human,” Seth replied.
“Bro,” Vinod said, “that’s a pretty broad range.”
“Not for us,” Seth responded.
There were moments during their conversations with Seth when he would say something that caused the trio to consider the extreme dichotomy between humans and petrins, something that caused them to realize the awesome power and intelligence they were dealing with. This was one of those moments.
“Humble much?” Vinod remarked to break the tension.
“Not trying to brag,” Seth responded. “Just providing you information.”
“Well, I for one am glad that you consider humans sentient,” Rachael said. She turned back to her laptop. “I have another question on my list. You’ve told us before that you are immortal. How does that work?”
“We are immortal in that we don’t die,” Seth replied. “We grow to our adult selves from a single cell much like humans do, but once we reach adulthood, our genetic pattern stops aging, unlike the pattern in humans. When humans get old and die, it’s not because their cells h
ave gotten older. It’s because the pattern of what their cells represent gets older.”
“Not sure if I follow that,” Joshua remarked.
“The cells that make up our bodies die and are replaced just like yours, even in adulthood. In humans, however, this replacement of cells is done on a pattern that is continuously aging. In essence, it’s the specific arrangement of your cells that defines you, and it’s that arrangement that gets older. We simply stop our pattern from aging at adulthood through the process of bio-engineering. We are therefore immortal.”
“You make it sound so simple,” Rachael said.
“For us, it is. Again, not trying to brag. I’m simply trying to answer your question as accurately as possible.”
“There has to be some death,” Vinod remarked. “What if some crazy asteroid hits your planet and physically destroys some individuals?”
“Accidents like that do happen from time to time,” Seth remarked, “but the pattern, the specific arrangement of our molecules and cells that define us, is backed up periodically as data. This data is stored in data nodes at multiple offsite locations on other planets. If some accident befalls one of our individuals, they are simply recreated using their last backup.”
Joshua scribbled a note on a piece of paper and shoved it in front of Rachael. For them it really is that simple.
“Man,” Vinod said, “it’s the ultimate offsite backup. AWS would be proud. It’s the cloud on steroids.”
“We have strict rules, however, about the backup of sentient organisms,” Seth continued. “There can be an unlimited number of backups stored as data, but only one copy of a particular sentient organism can be alive at any given time.”
“In essence, are you saying that what defines an individual of your race is simply the data that defines its specific pattern?” Rachael asked.
“Yes,” Seth replied. “We believe that what defines any organism, including humans, is the data of its specific pattern. In fact, we’ve found that the sentience of an organism is directly related to the amount of data needed to contain that organism’s pattern. The more data that is required, the more sentient they are. It’s a straightforward data-to-sentience ratio.”
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