“Thank you.”
“I guess the question at issue is whether the Goompahs are worth all the fuss being made over them.”
“They’re worth the fuss,” said Tor. “They’re intelligent.”
MacAllister smiled. “That puts them ahead of us.”
Gregory MacAllister was not the best-known journalist of the age, but he was certainly the most feared. Acerbic, acid-tongued, not given to taking prisoners, he liked to think of himself as a champion of common sense and a dedicated opponent of buffoonery and hypocrisy in high places. During the course of an interview the previous evening regarding the drive to make lightbenders available to the general public, he’d commented that while people have the right to commit suicide, he saw nothing in the Constitution requiring the government to expedite matters. “Invisible drunks,” he’d said. “Think about it.” Then he’d added, “The original sin was stupidity, and it is with us still.”
“Maybe it does,” said Tor. “That’s all the more reason to give them a chance.”
Hutch produced a cold beer for Mac, and wine for herself and Tor. Mac took a pull at the beer, expressed himself satisfied, and asked Tor why he thought the creatures were intelligent.
Tor rolled his eyes. “You’ve seen their architecture. And the way they’ve laid out their cities. What more do you need?”
Mac’s eyes usually darkened when he considered the issue of intelligent behavior. They did so now. “Tor,” he said, “the bulk of the human race shouldn’t be allowed out by themselves at night. A lot of them live near parks, fountains, and even spaceports. But that’s assigning worth by reflection.”
“You’re not serious.”
Mac had liberated some chocolate cookies from the kitchen. He held one out for Maureen, who took it happily and told Mac he wasn’t supposed to give any to Babe. That was the kitten, who showed no interest anyhow. “Tor,” he said, “most generations produce a handful of rational people who, so far, have been able to keep us going while everyone else spends his time falling into the works. Most people are programmed by the time they’re six, and learn nothing worthwhile afterward.”
Tor made a sound indicating he was in pain. In fact, of course, he was used to Mac’s exaggerations and would have expected no less.
But Hutch never got used to it. “Are you suggesting,” she asked, “that we should give an IQ test before rescuing someone, or something, in trouble?”
“Not at all. By all means, we should help anyone if we can reasonably do it. And the Goompahs do look worth saving. But I think you’re facing a no-win situation.”
That surprised her. “How do you mean?”
“You’ll probably have to break the Protocol to do anything for them. I mean, you’re even going to be shipping relief supplies. How do you possibly get them to these creatures without announcing your presence?” A look of genuine concern passed over his craggy features. “If you don’t succeed in helping them and a lot of them get wiped out, or they all get wiped out, you won’t forgive yourself. And the Academy will take a beating.”
Tor nodded reluctantly. “He’s probably right, Hutch.”
She looked at Mac across the top of her wineglass. And then leveled her gaze at her husband. “What would you two have me do? Just ignore them? Let them die by the thousands and not lift a finger?”
For a time no one spoke. Maureen looked at her oddly, as if Mommy had misbehaved. Babe the kitten came over and tried to chew on her ankle.
“I take it,” said Mac, “that there really is no way of shutting down the cloud?”
“None that we’ve been able to figure out. There’s never been enough money to fund a serious effort.”
Mac laughed. “But there’s enough money to underwrite the farming industries. And to provide tax breaks for General Power and Anderson & Goodbody.” He growled. “The truth is that it’s hard to justify spending money on a hazard that’s so far off, Hutch. Or that’s threatening somebody else. Still, I can understand the reluctance.”
She knew that. Mac had remained silent while major pundits laughed at Senator Blasingame, when he’d put together a bill demanding an extensive effort to find a way to neutralize the omegas. Blasingame had even made Hal Bodley’s annual Boondoggle List. Mac might have been able to stem the tide had he gotten into the fight.
“We could have used you,” she said.
“Hutch, the sun’s going to expand in a few billion years and wipe out all life on Earth. Maybe we should do something about that, as well.”
“Try to keep it serious, Mac,” she said.
“Okay.” He emptied his glass, trundled out to the kitchen, and came back with a refill. It was an uncomfortable moment, and Hutch suspected she shouldn’t have said anything, but damn it, Mac’s point of view was shortsighted. Maureen got a pulltoy out and she and the kitten retreated into the den.
Rachmaninoff’s Concerto Number Two was playing softly in the background. Light swept briefly through the window as a flyer descended onto the landing pad they shared with the Hoffmanns.
“It strikes me,” Mac said, easing back into his chair, “that it’s not true. Or at least, it’s not a universal truth.”
“What isn’t, Mac?”
“That cultures get swamped when they encounter a more developed civilization.”
“Can you name an exception?”
“Sure,” he said. “India.”
“They weren’t swamped,” said Tor. “But they were taken over.”
“That doesn’t count. The Brits at the time were imperialists. That wouldn’t apply on Lookout. But my point is that Indian culture survived pretty well. The essentials, their music, their marital patterns, their self-image, didn’t change at all.”
“What about the Native Americans?”
He smiled. “It’s a myth, Hutch. They didn’t collapse because they were faced with an intrinsically stronger culture. They were beaten down by a superior military. And maybe because their own cultural habits wouldn’t allow them to unite.
“Priscilla, if I felt the way you do, I wouldn’t mess around with all these half measures.”
“What would you do, Mac?”
“I’d send the Peacekeepers out there and get them all out of the cities when the damned thing gets close. Get them behind rocks or in caves or whatever else they have until it passes. It only takes a day or so, right?”
“Mac, I can’t do that.”
“Then you don’t have the courage of your convictions.”
She glanced over at Tor. He was shaking his head at her. You know better than to take Mac seriously. Relax. Let it go.
“There is this,” pursued Mac. “If you called out the troops, you’d have the satisfaction of knowing you gave it your best shot.”
Maureen had finished her cookie, leaving crumbs everywhere. Hutch let her head drift back for a moment, then got up and took Maureen’s hand. “Time for bed, Mo.”
“Too early, Mommy,” said the child, who began to fill up. She hated going to bed when they had company. She especially liked Mac. What on Earth was there about him that a child could love?
“We’ll read for a while,” she said. “Say good night to Uncle Mac.”
Maureen made a sad face at Mac. “Good night, Uncle Mac,” she said. And she reached for him, and kissed his cheek.
“Good night, darling,” said Mac.
HUTCH COULD HEAR them chattering away downstairs while she read to Maureen. Benny Rabbit makes friends with Oscar the Cat. Hutch would believe it when she saw it. But Maureen giggled and Babe the kitten joined them and stayed when Maureen fell asleep and Hutch turned out the lamp and went downstairs.