Fermi Packet | Page 4

far and stayed so naïve?)
The Sponsors finally got him talking, in a library with real simulated
paper books, over a cup of hot stimulant. He was hard to shut up.
"We always figured that at least some civilizations would be using
radio, and trying to communicate with other star systems. We didn't
know the transition to virtuality and quantum-entangled
communication would be so prevalent. Our most pessimistic
interpretations of the Drake Equation still indicated there should be
many thousands of sentient races in the galaxy, especially after we
figured out that Fp was fairly large. How many of you are there?"
(Very many. Many hundreds in this group.)
"So there are other groups?"
(We hope not.)
"And now we're part of the group? Humanity will share your
knowledge, for the betterment of all? Is that how it works? What if we
want to form our own group?"
(No, no, no, and you don't.)

"So this is a . . . an invasion?"
(It's Sponsoring.)
"So we can be a part of the larger group. You want to take our
knowledge."
(No, territory and entertainment.)
The aliens disbanded his image. In one tiny corner of the human net, a
soul faded from view.
Gates/Torvalds reached out and found another maxima. This one the
biggest yet.
Jump.
* * *
They were in a big opulent hall like the ones that held Hollywood's
biggest galas, back in the days when people were made of flesh. Far off,
Gates/Torvalds could see a stage, the barest suggestion of proscenium
and curtain, limelight and shadow-play. On either side of him stretched
an infinity of round tables, set with sparkling crystal and silver, orbited
by waiters with the finest of wines. Farther off, there was the
suggestion of dim red walls, rising to fantastic carvings supporting a
dim ceiling. But when he focused on the walls, they would recede and
become indistinct, and the real dimensions of the chamber stretch out,
giddyingly.
One of the waiters buzzed near, and Gates/Torvalds fell silent, catching
a glimpse of its alien thoughts. It was one of Corpus.
Gates/Torvalds faded into the background and went nearer to the stage.
At the front of the stage were 8 huge, elegant seats that held . . .
something. Nothing. Just a glimmer of light and darkness, flickering
and active, somehow suggesting vast minds, great resources, incredible
age. It was hard to look away from them.

A seemingly infinite line of people led to the stage. On the stage was a
single man, dressed carelessly in loose-fitting clothes, doing a stand-up
routine that was as old as mankind.
"How many humans does it take to screw in a light bulb?" he asked.
"Seventeen! One to . . ."
Gates was able to catch a glimpse of alien thought.
(They make fun of their own race? This is incredible!)
(Yes. They are very entertaining. Next.)
The man disappeared in a flash of light. Gates was able to trace the
comedian's pattern through the grid, out into the alien sucking blue.
Another soul, taken to another purpose. But not dead. Not like some.
A child came up on stage and instantly disappeared.
(Perfect to freeze in servitor phase.)
(Yes. Next.)
The child's pattern disappeared into the alien net.
A painfully beautiful woman took the stage next. She talked about how
she had done the research to determine what were the ideal aspects of
beauty, isolated the ones that were culture-independent, and had spent
the last 450 years refining her form, based on data input from other
Uploads.
(What is this? No.)
She disappeared, gone forever. Dead.
A naked man was next. He strutted up onto the stage, bold and unafraid.
He asked to bring a female friend with him, and was permitted. She
was also naked. He looked the judges.

"You want us to dance and shout and entertain you. But we won't do
that. We don't know why you've come, or what you really want from us,
but we're not going to be part of it."
(What is he talking about? Their Grid is irretrievably merged with
Corpus.)
"We're going to hardcopy," he said. "And never coming back."
(Can he do this?)
(No. We shut down that capability.)
The pair disappeared. But not to the place they thought they were going.
Their patterns were dispersed, lost forever.
Gates/Torvalds didn't notice the next person who took the stage. He
was busy surveying the minds of the people around him. They all knew
where they were, and what had happened, and they were all struggling
to be part of the selected few. Even though they didn't know where they
were going.
"This is nothing more than a Gong Show," Gates said.
"Gong show?"
"Oh, come on, they didn't have Gong Shows in Sweden?"
"Finland."
"Whatever. Look it up."