PROFESSOR NOOZONE: All very moving. Maybe even true, Hannah. But inna case, does not your failure to find anybody have the worrisome opposite meaning? Anyway, you describe a benefit of detection. Not of transmission, which increases the risk, without affecting any of the benefits-
DR. SPEARPATH: Your patois is slipping again. If it were genuine-
MARCIA KHATAMI: I want to focus on something else the professor said last week, about how the classic SETI search strategy has been all wrong for decades. Because it assumes that extraterrestrials are constantly transmitting in all directions, at all times.
DR. SPEARPATH: We do not make that assumption!
PROFESSOR NOOZONE: But oh my, your search strategy implies it, Hannah! Aiming big, stooshy telescope arrays toward one target at a time, analyzing the radio spectrum from that candidate solar system, then doin’ the ten-toe turbo as you stroll on to the next one…
DR. SPEARPATH: Sometimes we take in whole globular clusters. We frequently return to the galactic center. There are also timing-pattern scenarios, having to do with the light cone of certain events, like novas, that turn our attention certain ways. We have an eclectic program.
PROFESSOR NOOZONE: That be most-surely laudable. Still, your approach clings to an assumption-that benevolent aliens make great-profligate beacons that blare inna cosmos continuously, day after day, year after year, ray-ray just for neo-races like us, using SETI programs like yours.
But Hannah, that ignores so-many possibles. Like suppose de cosmos be more dangerous than you think. Maybe ET stays quiet because him knows something we don’t!
DR. SPEARPATH: (sighs) More paranoia.
PROFESSOR NOOZONE: No way, Doctor, me I’m just thorough. But dere be a bigger plaint, based on hard-nose economics.
MARCIA KHATAMI: Economics, Professor? You mean, as in money?
DR. SPEARPATH: Alien capitalists? Investment bankers? This gets better and better. How unimaginative to assume that an advanced civilization will manage itself just like us.
MARCIA KHATAMI: (chuckles) Now, Doctor, no one can accuse Profnoo of being-unimaginative. We’ll come back and discuss how economics might affect advanced aliens after this break.
13.
If only I could be more than one person.
It was a frequent wish. As life kept getting busier, Hamish delegated as much as he could, but things kept piling up. The more successful he became, the more beleaguered he felt.
Standing on a balcony overlooking the lanai of his Clearwater compound, gazing past palm trees, mansions, and surf-ruins toward the sparkling Gulf of Mexico, he could hear the musical jangle of calls coming in, answered by two secretaries, three assistants, and far too many soft-aissistors to count.
To hell with being “influential” and saving the world! Wasn’t I happier when it was just me and the old qwerty keyboard? And my characters. Just give me an arrogant villain and some Big Technological Mistake. A gutsy heroine. A mouthy hero. I’d be set for months.
All right, I also liked doing movies. Before Hollywood collapsed.
Only now? There is the Cause. Important, of course. But with trillionaires joining their great power behind it, can’t the movement do without me for a week? Let me get some writing done?
Clutching the wrought iron balustrade, he recognized one of those phone melodies-a call he couldn’t refuse. After the first ring, it started vibrating a flesh-colored plug in his ear.
He refused to tap a tooth and answer. Somebody downstairs should pick up. Take a message.
But no one did. Well trained, his staff knew that tune was for him alone. Still, he kept his gaze on the horizon, where several rows of once-expensive villas used to line the old beachfront, now jutting skeletally from the roiling tide. In the distance, he heard the day and night rumble as Conservation Corps crews extended a network of shoreline dikes and dunes. Keeping Florida a state, and not paradise lost.
A new Flood is coming…
After a third ring-damned technology-the synthetic voice of Wriggles spoke up.
“It is Tenskwatawa. We are behooved.”
Hamish relented, giving the slightest nod of permission. A faint click followed…
… and he winced as sudden, rhythmic, thumping sounds assaulted one eardrum. Dampers kicked in, filtering the cadence down to a bearable level. It was a four-four tempo, heavy on the front beat.
“Brookeman! You there? Damn it, how come you’re not wearing specs?”
Hamish grew tired of explaining why he only used aiware when necessary. You’d think a leader of the Renunciation Movement would understand.
“Where are you calling from, Prophet?”
“Puget Sound. A Quinalt potlatch ceremony. They hand-carve their own canoes and spears, stage a big sea hunt where they stab a robot orca, then come back and feast on vat-grown whale meat. Vat-grown! Bunch of tree-hugging fairies.
“Never mind. Have you made any progress on the Basque Chimera?”
“Both mother and child have gone underground. And pretty effectively. I figure they got help from elements in the First Estate.”
“I suspected as much. It’s not as if they could hide in plain sight. So. I’ll put some pressure on the trillies. It’s time for them to stop playing both sides and choose. One thing about aristos, they have an instinct for self-preservation.”
“True enough, sir.”
“So, what about that thing with Senator Strong? It’d be great if he can be salvaged. He’s been an asset.”
“I’ve been home one day,” Hamish answered. “I did hire a team of ex-FBI guys to gather prelims through discreet channels. Tap government files and such. Investigate the fellow who claims to have poisoned the senator. Forty-eight hours to gather background, before I take an overall look.”
“One of your trademark
Hamish bit back a sullen response. It used to be flattering when important men asked him to consult and offer a wide perspective-pointing out things they missed. Now, the fun was gone. Especially since Carolyn pointed out something that should have been obvious.
“A hundred years from now, Hammi, what will be left of you?” she asked on the day they parted, ending all the anger and shouting with a note of regret. “Do you expect gratitude for all this conspiring with world-movers? Or to go down in history? Pick any of your novels. A book will still be around-read and enjoyed by millions-after that other crap has long faded. Long after your body is dust.”
Of course she was right. Yet, Hamish knew how the Prophet would answer. Without the Cause, there might not be any humanity, a century from now, to read novels or do anything else.
Still, thinking of Carolyn, he knew-she had also been talking about their marriage. That, too, was important. It should have been treated as something to last.