“But the student recanted,” said Kyle.
Stone made an almost imperceptible nod. “She knew she’d lost the fight and she was getting the cold shoulder from a lot of other male faculty members. She thought it would help.” He did take a gulp of his beer now. “She transferred to York.” He shrugged a little. “Fresh start.”
Kyle didn’t know what to say. He looked around the bar for a time.
“I didn’t—” said Stone. “I know this doesn’t excuse it, but I was going through a bad time. Denise and I were getting a divorce. I—” He stopped. “It was a stupid thing to do.”
Kyle exhaled. “You spent all this time listening to me go on about my troubles with Becky.”
Stone shrugged again. “I thought you were guilty.”
Kyle’s voice took on a sharp edge. “I told you I wasn’t.”
“I know, I know. But if you were guilty, well, then you were a worse bastard than me, see? You’re an okay guy, Kyle—I figured if a guy like you could do something that bad, well, then maybe it excused what I did a bit. Just something that sometimes happens, you know?”
“Christ, Stone.”
“I know. But I won’t ever do it again.”
“Recidivism—”
“No. No, I’m different now. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve changed. Something in me has changed.” Stone reached into his pocket, pulled out his SmartCash card. “Look, I’m sure you don’t want to see me anymore. I’m glad it worked out between you and your daughter. Really, I am.” He rose to his feet.
“No,” said Kyle. “Stay.”
Stone hesitated for a few moments. “You sure?”
Kyle nodded. “I’m sure.”
On Tuesday morning, Heather was struggling up the steps to Mullin Hall, her arms full of books she wanted to have handy at Kyle’s lab for tomorrow’s press conference. The humidity was mercifully low today, and the sky overhead was a pristine cerulean bowl.
Just in front of her was a familiar-looking broad back wearing a Varsity Blues jacket with the name “Kolmex” emblazoned on it—the same dumb lug who had let the door to Sid Smith slam in Heather and Paul’s faces two weeks ago.
She thought about calling out to him, but to her astonishment, when he reached the door, he stopped, looked around to see if anyone was coming, caught sight of Heather, opened the door and held it for her.
“Thank you,” she said as she passed the fellow.
He smiled at her. “My pleasure. Have a nice day.”
The funny thing, Heather thought, was he sounded like he really meant it.
41
We Are Not Alone.
It was the title of the book that had first raised public awareness about the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence. The book, by Walter Sullivan, former science editor of The New York Times, was published in 1964.
Back then, it had been a bold assertion, based on theory and conjecture but no actual evidence—there was not a scintilla of proof that we really weren’t alone in the universe.
Humanity went about its business much as it always had. The Vietnam War continued, as did apartheid. Rates of murder and other violent crimes continued to rise.
We Are Not Alone.
The slogan was revived again for the release of Steven Spielberg’s film Close Encounters of the Third Kind in 1977. The public freely embraced the idea of life in the universe, but still there was no real evidence, and humanity continued along as it always had. The Gulf War happened, and so did the massacre in Tiananmen Square.
We Are Not Alone.
The words received new currency in 1996 when the first compelling evidence of life off Earth was unveiled: a meteorite from Mars that had conked no one on the head in the Antarctic. Extraterrestrial life was now more than just the stuff of dreams. Nonetheless, humanity behaved as usual. Terrorists blew up buildings and airplanes; “ethnic cleansings” continued unabated.
We Are Not Alone.
The New York Times, bringing it full circle, used that headline in 144-point type on the front page of the July 25, 2007, edition—the day the first public announcement of the receipt of radio signals from Alpha Centauri was made. We knew for a fact that life—intelligent life—existed elsewhere. And yet, humanity’s ways did not change. The Colombian War happened, and on July 4, 2009, the Klan massacred two thousand African Americans across four states in a single night.
But then, just over ten years after the signals were first received, a different thought echoed through the fourspace overmind and percolated down into the threespace realm of its individual extensions.
I Am Not Alone.
And things did change.
“Journalists are often accused of reporting only bad news,” said Greg McGregor, anchoring the Newsworld telecast from Calgary on Tuesday evening.
Kyle and Heather sat on their living-room couch, his arm around her shoulders, watching.
“Well,” continued McGregor, “if you saw our newscast from the top this evening, you’ll have noted that today we had nothing but good news to report. Tensions have eased in the Middle East—as recently as a week ago, U.S. secretary of state Bolland was predicting another outbreak of war there, but today, for the second day in a row, the cease-fire remains unbroken.
“Here in Canada, a new Angus Reid instant opinion poll shows that eighty-seven percent of Québecois want to remain part of Canada—a twenty-four-percent increase over the response to the same question just one month ago.
“There have been no murders reported in Canada for the past twenty-four hours. No rapes, either. Statistics from the United States and the European Community seem similar.
“In eighteen years on the job, this reporter has never seen such a run of really nice news. It’s been a pleasure being able to share it all with you.” He tipped his head, as he did each night, and gave his standard sign-off: “And another day passes into history. Good night, Canada.”
The ending theme music began to play. Kyle picked up the remote and clicked the TV off.
“It is nice, isn’t it?” said Kyle, leaning back in the couch. “You know, I’ve noticed it myself. People giving up seats on the subway, helping others, and just being polite. It must be something in the air.”
Heather shook her head. “No, it’s not something in the air—it’s something in space.”
“Pardon?” said Kyle.
“Don’t you see? Something completely new has happened. The overmind knows that it’s not alone. I told you: contact has been made between the human overmind and the overmind of Alpha Centauri. And the human overmind is experiencing something it’s never experienced before.”
“Astonishment, yes. You said that.”
“No, no, no. Not astonishment; not anymore. It’s experiencing something else, something entirely new to it.” Heather looked at her husband. “Empathy! Until now, our overmind had been utterly incapable of empathy; there simply was no one else for it to identify with, no one else whose situation, feelings, or desires it could come to understand. Since the dawn of consciousness, it has existed in absolute isolation. But now it’s touching and being touched by another overmind, and suddenly it understands something other than selfishness. And since the overmind understands that, all of us—all the extensions of that mind—suddenly understand it, too, in a deeper, more fundamental way than we’ve ever understood it before.”
Kyle considered. “Empathy, eh?” He drew his mouth into a frown. “Cheetah kept asking about things that demonstrated man’s inhumanity to man. He said it seemed to be a test—and wanted to know who was administering the test. I guess the answer was that we were—we, the human collective, trying to understand, trying to make sense of it all.”