“Cosmologically speaking, perhaps not,” Brad said. “But the local effect is uncomfortable. It would be easier to live with it if it erased our least intelligent, rather than—”
Borland frowned. “You’re talking about IQ type brains? ‘Intelligence Quotient defined as Mental Age divided by Chronological Age times 100’?”
“We think so. Of course we can’t be certain that a numerical IQ score reflects anything more than the subject’s ability to score on IQ tests, so we may be misinterpreting the nature of the destroyer’s thrust. A numerical score omits what may be the more important factors of personality, originality and character, and even when detail scores are identical—”
“It is no sure sign that the capabilities or performance of the people are identical,” Borland finished. “I know the book, and I am aware of the shortcomings of the system. I remember the flap fifteen or twenty years ago about ‘creativity,’ and I remember the vogue for joining high-IQ clubs. When I want a good man, I stay well clear of the self-professed egghead. I can tell just by looking at faces who’s a sucker for the club syndrome.”
Borland peered at faces. He pointed a gnarled finger at Afra. “You!”
She jumped guiltily. “You belong, right?” he said. Without waiting for her startled nod of agreement he moved on. “You — no,” he said to Brad. “That big Russky who just left — no.” He looked at Ivo. “They wouldn’t let you in.” He returned to Brad. “But IQ is the only practical guide we have to the generalized potential of large numbers of people, so we have to use it until we have something better. Let’s just define it as the ability to learn, and say that a person with IQ one twenty is probably smarter overall than his brother with IQ one hundred. It’s only a convenience so we can get down to the important stuff. OK?”
Brad laughed. “Oll Korrect, Senator. Apply your philosophy.”
“Now you tell me this signal is nonlinguistic, so anybody can follow it, but it has a cutoff point. You have to be pretty smart, by one definition or another, for it to hit you. Does it hit the smarty sooner than the marginal one, or is it like the macrons: you get it or you don’t?”
“It seems to hit the brighter minds sooner. Intelligence is such an elusive quality that we can’t be sure, but—”
“Right. So let’s run this through in some kind of order. You have an IQ of two fifteen—”
“What?” Afra demanded, shocked.
“That isn’t—”
“I know. I know, I know,” Borland said. “Figures don’t mean anything, but if they did they still wouldn’t apply to you, because you’re smarter than the Joe who tries to test you. But remember we’re talking convenience, not fact. No, I haven’t seen your data-sheet; I do my own interpolation. If the figures did register for you, that’s about the way it would read, right?”
Brad did not deny it, and Afra did not look at him. Ivo knew what she was thinking. She had supposed he might be 175 or 180, still somewhere within range of her own score. Scores would be very important to her. Suddenly she knew he was as far above her as she was above the average person — and the average, to her, was almost unbearably dull.
“So chances are that of this group, you would be the first to be hit by it,” Borland said. “So let’s put you at the head of the table. Now I’m comparatively stupid — at least, about fifty points below your figure, and that’s a military secret, by the way, ’cause brains are a nonsurvival trait in the Senate — and your girl here runs about ten points below that. This lad—”
“About one twenty-five,” Ivo said. “But it’s unbalanced. I have—”
“There went another military secret,” Brad muttered. “I don’t think Mr. Archer should—”
“I insist on taking my place in your theoretic lineup,” Ivo said seriously.
“Good. You’re here, and it’s a nice gradient, so might as well use you,” Borland said. “Now let’s bring in someone who sits at one hundred even to round it out.”
“There’s nobody on the station—” Afra began.
“Ask Beatryx,” Brad murmured.
“Ask — !”
“It is no insult to be average, intellectually,” Brad told her gently. “The rest of us are freaks, statistically.” Afra flushed and went out.
“High-tempered filly there,” Borland observed. “Technical secretary?”
“More — until two minutes ago.”
“Let’s get with it. You can activate that relay right now, right?”
“You seem to be assuming that we’re really going to watch it.”
“Lose your nerve, son? You knew it was coming. Step outside and leave me with it.”
“Senator, there’s no way to demonstrate the destroyer to you without destroying you. You’d be committing mental suicide.”
Borland squinted at him. “Say I see it and survive it. Say I assimilate what the aliens are trying to hide. Where would that put me, locally?”
“Either stupid enough for a chairmanship, or—”
Ivo understood the pause. The Senator was hardly stupid. If he should survive the destroyer with a whole mind, he might have at his command the secrets of the universe, literally. He could become the most powerful man on Earth. He was the type of individual willing to gamble total loss against the prospect of total victory.
He was serious. This was what he had come for. He would view the destroyer. And Brad could not allow him to make that gamble alone. The Senator’s victory might well be more costly to Earth than his defeat — unless Brad could solve the destroyer first.
Borland’s gaze was fierce. “You want it the hard way, junior?”
“Congressional subpoena?” Brad shrugged. “No, we’ll undertake this suicide pact now, together.”
“Do it, lad.”
Brad glanced at Ivo, saw that he wasn’t leaving, and slapped a button under the table. The television screen that filled the far wall burst into color. All three rotated to face it.
Ivo, astonished at the suddenness of the decision and action, realized then how neatly they had done it. The three of them constituted a bracket, to honor that pretext, and Brad would not have wanted either woman to take the risk. Afra would never have excluded herself voluntarily, had she known what was brewing.
Shape appeared, subtle, twisting, tortuous, changing. A large sphere of red — he could tell by the shading that it represented a sphere, in spite of the two-dimensionality of the image — and a small blue dot. The dot expanded into a sphere in its own right, lighter blue, and overlapped the other. The segment of impingement took on a purple compromise.
Ivo’s intuition caught on. His freak ability attuned to this display as readily as it had to the game of sprouts. This was an animated introduction to sets, leading into Boolean Algebra, with color as an additional tool. Through set theory it was possible to introduce a beginner to mathematics, logic, electronics and all other fields of knowledge — without the intervention of a specific language. Language itself could be effectively analyzed by this means. One riddle solved; the aliens had the means to communicate.
The colors flexed, expanded, overlapped, changed shapes and intensities and number and patterns in a fashion that to an ordinary person might seem random… but was not. There was logic in that patterning, above and beyond the logic of the medium. It was an alien logic, but absolutely rational once its terms were accepted. Rapidly, inevitably, the postulates integrated into an astonishingly meaningful whole. The very significance of existence was—
Ivo’s intuition leaped ahead, anticipating the denouement. The meaning was coming at him, striking with transcendent force.
He knew immediately that the sequence should be stopped. He tried to stand, to cry out, but his motor reflexes were paralyzed. He could not even close his eyes.