It took them a long time to get to the planet the Archivaas called home. But there was a reason they went there. Many, many generations of their family had been avid photographers, or as they jokingly called themselves, a whole family of "shutter-bugs". Photos and drawings from earth before the time of the shattering, before the first humans even went to the moon, albeit, very rough photos, all the way through the generations to digital media, saved in a large crate filled to bursting with photo albums and carefully preserved digital images is what they were escorting. And why were they giving this to the Archivaas? Because they wanted to share these works of art with the universe, and wasn't interested in money for it. They had a good job, took time off to do this, it was more the exquisite satisfaction of knowing how many more would be able to enjoy the artwork that tied their family together and had so much joy to their own life as well. -- Anon Guest
It's not every day that an entire family history gets shipped to the Archivaas. Not in physical form. One might expect a crate or two, but this family made lifetimes out of capturing moments. From quick-sketch artists to impressionists to the first photographers to entire families with Box Brownies[1]. If it made an image, this family used it to capture elements of their lives. The sublime. The rare. The mundane. All the way through the digital age and beyond.
It was more than one crate. The crate was a sample of the eras. Somewhere between a summary and an index, for generations and even deep time. The rest of it was in a fleet of cargo vessels waiting for the word and the co-ordinates. Because the Lumiere family were searching for the Archivaas homeworld. A quest with the primary difficulty that there was no such thing.
The Archivaas didn't make homeworlds. They weren't one colony, though there were branches of them that went down deep-time wormholes with other objectives. Namely to be there with enough technology to pick up old or formerly lost transmissions, usually from Earth. What the Archivaas do is build libraries. Depending on the sect, some are wont to use the resources of entire solar systems just to keep records in assorted physical formats[2]. Those are not the ones the Lumiere family seeks.
Despite being told numerous times that there is no Archivaas homeworld, they soldier on. Jumping from library-colony to library-colony... looking for what must be the center of their particular madness.
Finally, they found some people selling them the right lie.
Grand Cataloger Archivaas Shikibu, gloves on, carefully peeked at the contents of the crate. Only on the inside were they holding a grand parade with seventy-six trombones in the lead. "This is an astonishing collection. How far back does it go?"
"Fourteenth Century, old Terran calendar," said one of the Lumieres. "That's when the family started saving all the art. Well. Some of the art."
A few of Shikibu's neurons exploded at the thought of formerly unknown information that was now irrevocably lost. The parable of the old witch and the knowledge of the world[3] sailed through their head. Diplomatic. Be diplomatic, or the rest is ashes. "Thank you for your supreme efforts in saving what remains. Is this the entire collection?"
"Oh no, the rest is waiting in the cargo fleet. As soon as we find the Archivaas homeworld, the rest will be on its way."
Shikibu's brain almost stopped functioning at 'fleet'. It was a battle to keep a straight face as they said. "What fortuitous luck. Our homeworld happens to be the fourth orbiting body in this stellar system. It all started there. It's still our base for administration over the rest of the Niven Rings forming the Library Prime."
They fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker. Shikibu didn't really need to add the grand history of the Archivaas and their splintering sects, but a sketch tumbled out of their mouth anyway. "We will, of course, do our utmost to preserve your collected works as is, but do you object to the art being shared virtually?"
"Of course not. Art needs to be seen. This is a gift to the greater universe."
"We'd be selfish if we kept it to ourselves," said one who was, at that very moment, capturing the light as it entered the stained glass windows. Saint Isadorus pouring books from a telephone jack. Very popular iconography amongst the Archivaas. "It's almost cluttering up a whole planet, can you imagine?"
Grand Cataloger Archivaas Shikibu pasted a forged smile to their face and tried not to think about the solar systems some of their faith had cannibalised in order to store all available human knowledge. Diplomatic. Stay diplomatic. "Imagine," they echoed.
[1] An early cheap camera that was available to the greater public.
[2] Some are even manic enough to reproduce all of Human knowledge on parchment, using iron gall ink. The depths of their dedication are to be admired, and they tend to view the resulting beef exports as a side-hustle. For a sense of scale, each of Gutenberg's bibles could easily have slaughtered twenty cows.
[3] It's a long story, but an old witch offers a kingdom the knowledge of the world at increasing prices and burns half every time she's refused. The story being a partial explanation of all that's been lost over time and a moral to take up a good offer when it's first presented. It keeps young Archivaas up at nights with horror.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / sergwsq]
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