Of course, this was also the point when some rich snobs wound up puking in their respirators. Or began screaming in terror, through the entire plunge to Earth. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to wish that upon Smits.
I hope the fool got his helmet on. Maybe I should try one more…
Then an alarm throbbed.
He didn’t hear it directly with his drugged and clamped eardrums, but as a tremor in his jaw. With insistent pulse code, the computer told him:
GUIDANCE SYSTEM ERROR…
FLIGHT PATH CORRECTION MISFIRED…
CALCULATING NEW IMPACT ZONE…
“What?” Hacker shouted, though the rattle and roar tore away his words. “To hell with that! I paid for triple redundancy-”
He stopped. It was pointless to scream at an ai.
“Call the pickup boats and tell them-”
COMMUNICATION SYSTEM ENCRYPTION ERROR…
UNABLE TO UPLOAD PREARRANGED SPECTRUM SPREAD…
UNABLE… TO… CONTACT… RECOVERY… TEAMS…
“Override encryption! Send in the clear. Acknowledge!”
This was no time to avoid paparazzi and eco-nuts. There were occasions for secrecy-and others when it made no sense.
Only, this time the capsule’s ai didn’t answer at all. The pulses in his jaw dissolved into a plaintive juttering as subprocessors continued their mysterious crapout. Hacker cursed, pounding the capsule with his fist.
“I spent plenty for a top-grade kit. Someone’s gonna pay for this!”
The words were raw, unheard vibrations in his throat. But Hacker would remember this vow. He’d signed waivers under the International Extreme Sports Treaty. But there were fifty thousand private investigation and enforcement services across Earth. Some would bend Cop Guild rules, for a triple fee.
Harness straps bit his flesh. Even the sonic pickups in his mandible hit overload set points and cut out, as turbulence passed any level he had known… then surged beyond.
Reentry angle is wrong, he realized, as helmet rattled brain like dice in a cup. These little sport capsules… don’t leave much margin. In moments… I could be a very rich cinder.
Something in Hacker relished that. A novel experience, scraping nerves. A howling veer past death. But even that was spoiled by one, infuriating fact.
I’m not getting what I paid for.
As we embark on our long list of threats to human existence, shall we start with natural disasters? That is how earlier top critters met their end. Those fierce dinosaurs and other dominant beasts all met their doom with dull surprise, having no hand, paw, or claw in bringing it about.
So how might the universe do us in? Well, there are solar superflares, supernovae, and giant black holes that might veer past our sun. Or micro black holes, colliding with the Earth and gobbling us from within. Or getting caught in the searchlight sweep of a magnetar or gamma-ray burst, or a titanic explosion in the galactic center.
Or what if our solar system slams at high speed into a dense molecular cloud, sending a million comets falling our way? Or how about classics? Like collision with an asteroid? (More on that, later.) Then there are those supervolcanos, still building up pressure beneath Yellowstone and a dozen other hot spots-giant magma pools at superhigh pressure, pushing and probing for release. Yes we had a scare already. But one, medium-size belch didn’t make the threat go away. It’s a matter of when, not if.
The Lifeboat Foundation’s list of natural extinction threats goes on and on. Dozens and dozens of scenarios, each with low-but-significant odds, all the way to the inevitable burnout of the sun. Once, we were assured that it would take five billion years to happen. Only, now, astronomers say our star’s gradual temperature rise will reach a lethal point sooner! A threshold when Earth will no longer be able to shed enough heat, even if we scrubbed every trace of greenhouse gas.
When? The unstoppable spread of deserts may start in just a hundred million years. An eyeblink! Roughly the time it took tiny mammals to emerge from their burrows, stare at the smoldering ruins of T. Rex, then turn into us.
Suppose we humans blow it, big time, leaving only small creatures scurrying through our ruins.
Life might have just one more chance to get it right.
– Pandora’s Cornucopia
6.
“A crisis is coming, Lacey. Awk. You cannot abandon your own kind.”
Tilting a straw hat to keep out the harsh Chilean sun, she answered in a low voice.
“My own kind of what?”
It wasn’t the best time to go picking flowers in a narrow, rocky garden, especially at high altitude, under the immense flank of a gleaming observatory dome. But there were rules against taking animals inside. Oh, the astronomers would make an exception for Lacey, since her money built the place. Still, newblesse oblige taught against taking advantage of one’s station. Or, at least, one shouldn’t do it ostentatiously.
So, while waiting for the relayed voice of her visitor, Lacey selected another bloom-a multihued Martian Rose-one of the few varietals that flourished this high above sea level.
“You know what I mean. Awr. The present, patched-together social compact cannot hold. And when it fails, there may be blood. Awk. Tides of it.”
A gray and blue parrot perched atop the cryo-crate that had delivered it, a short time ago, via special messenger. Flash-thawed and no worse for its long journey, the bird cocked its head, lifting a claw to scratch one iridescent cheek. It appeared quite bored-in contrast to the words that squawked from its curved yellow bill, in a Schweitzer-Deutsch accent.
“The Enlightenment Experiment is coming to an end, Lacey. Ur-rawk. The best ai models show it. All ten estates are preparing.”
The parrot might seem squinty and distracted, but Lacey knew it had excellent eyesight. Another good reason to conduct this conversation outside, where she could hide a bit behind the sunhat. Carefully snipping another bloom, she asked-
“All ten estates? Even the
It took a few seconds for her words to pass through birdbrain encryption, and then, via satellite, to a twin parrot for deciphering in faraway Zurich. More seconds later, coded return impulses made the feathered creature in front of her chutter, irritably, in response.
“Enough of them to matter. Stop obfuscating! You know what our models say. The masses comprise the most dangerous estate of all. Especially if they waken. Do you want to see tumbrels rolling through the streets, filled with condemned aristocrats? Only this time, not only in Paris, but all over the world? Awk!”
Lacey looked up from her small harvest, mostly blue-green cyanomorph ornamentals, destined for tonight’s dinner table, in the nearby Monastery.
“Did this bird just pronounce ‘obfuscating’? Helena, you’ve outdone yourself. What a fine herald! Can I keep him, when we’re done?”
One beady avian eye focused on her during the next three-second delay, as if the creature knew its life hung in the balance.
“Sorry, Lacey,” it finally squawked. “If I got it back, my people could cut out the encryption pathways… awk! But we can’t risk it falling into unfriendly hands. Our conversation might be retro-snooped.
“Tell you what. I’ll have another bird grown for you, just like it. If you’ll promise to attend the conference.