It was a line that may have had them rolling in the aisles in Navarro’s classes at Montreal, but we just nodded and waited for him to go on. “What is original in Klein’s work,” he said, “is the subtlety and complexity of the modeling. In that respect, he was far in advance of anything I have seen in the peer-reviewed literature. The method by which he derives his models is radical and contentious, but for now we can go with Klein’s claim that it is reliable. So, for instance, we can ask ourselves what Klein’s model predicts for interactions between the various Affinities, if InterAlia ceases to exert comprehensive control. But we have to ask that question in light of a larger one, one posed by Klein himself: How is the general culture changing, and what is the role of the Affinities in that change?” Navarro paused, and a gust of wind rattled the window. “In simple terms, Klein was asking: Is our social structure viable? Is there a future worth looking forward to? Or are we simply fucked?”
Which got a suppressed laugh from Amanda. Navarro acknowledged her reaction with a wry smile.
“Without going into detail, I can say that his research suggests that we are not entirely fucked. But it’s a close thing. The problems confronting us are the obvious ones—climate change, resource competition, population stress, and all the human conflicts arising from those problems. What makes these questions especially difficult is that they cannot be dealt with comprehensively by individual action. We need to act collectively, on a global scale. But we have very limited means of doing that. We are a collaborative species, the most successful such species on the planet, but we collaborate as individuals, for mutual gain, under systems established to promote and protect such collaboration. Our global economic and social behavior is largely unconstrained. Which means that, under certain circumstances, it can run away with us. It can carry us all unwilling into the land of unforeseen consequences. Which is a very dark place indeed. May I have a glass of water, Damian?”
“Something stronger, if you like.”
“No, water is fine.”
Damian rustled up a glass of ice water while we fidgeted. Navarro accepted the glass, took a sip, licked his lips. “Now, all this is elementary social teleodynamics. But here again, Klein does something daring. Because he knows more about the Affinities than anyone else—and because he can model them with unprecedented accuracy—he has factored their influence into his predictions.”
Amanda said, “And that makes a difference?”
“Yes! Quite a startling difference! Klein’s research suggests that the Affinities could become major players in the evolution of a pan-global culture. By which I mean they will increasingly influence politics, policy, and economics. They could in fact come to serve in place of what is so conspicuously absent—a global human conscience.”
“The Affinities can do that?”
“Well, no. Not every Affinity. There was a reason Klein entrusted his data to Taus.”
“What,” Amanda said, “we’re so special?”
“Apparently,” Navarro said, “we are.”
* * *
We’re special. It was something we may have suspected but never said aloud. It sounded arrogant and narcissistic.
But did we feel it? Of course we did.
I had felt it when I first walked through the doors of Lisa and Loretta’s house in Toronto. I had felt it when I realized I was in a community of people who loved me, whom I could love freely and confidently in return, and who loved me despite my imperfections as I loved them despite theirs. I had recognized in that house the presence of what was so conspicuously absent in the house where I had grown up: the possibility of being both truly known and genuinely loved.
Which of course made us special. Special to ourselves; special because we were inside the charmed circle, and others were not. But Navarro was suggesting something different. He was suggesting that we might be special to the world at large … that something in the Tau community might help shepherd everyone into a better future.
“The bad news,” Navarro said, “is that the second half of this century could be a very unpleasant time and place for the human species. In the worst case, we could be facing the collapse of infrastructure, political chaos, widespread starvation, perhaps even the beginning of a massive human die-off. But Klein is not universally pessimistic. His models suggest that there is a way through that terribly narrow passage. It’s possible that we can create a better world—more just, equitable, and humane. In fact that may be the only alternative to destruction. And as Taus we are in a unique position to help.” Navarro paused and looked at Damian. “But only if the Tau Affinity is willing to assume that responsibility.”
Damian stood up as Navarro sank back into his chair. “Okay, I think that gets the gist across.” He surveyed the handful of us. I was aware of the rain clamoring at the window, as if God had decided to wash us all into the sea. I was aware that what we said in this shell of warm light on the edge of the cold Pacific might have consequences far beyond our own lives, if Klein’s mathematics were reliable; that a word spoken or unspoken could cascade into history. “Obviously,” Damian said, “this isn’t something we can keep secret, either from the rest of the Tau Affinity or from the world at large. But we do have choices. That’s why I wanted to have this discussion here, away from the city and away from hostile influences. So we’re going to talk about this, and fair warning, we might still be talking about it when the sun comes up tomorrow morning.”
“If it comes up,” Amanda said, nodding at the window and the roaring rain.
Damian smiled. “If it does. Because there is one choice we can’t share and we can’t delegate. According to Klein’s data, the Tau Affinity can help move the world in a better direction. But if we attempt to do that, we also make ourselves vulnerable. The world may not want to be moved, and the world can hurt us. Klein’s models don’t guarantee that we’ll come through this unharmed. They do guarantee that we’ll make enemies. The risk is real.”
“The risk is also real,” Amanda said, “for someone who runs into a burning building to rescue a child. But we do it anyway, don’t we? It’s the better part of being human.”
“But we’re not just assuming personal risks. We’re putting other people at risk as well—other Taus, not to mention people outside our Affinity. If we go ahead with the project of making Affinity testing cheap and universal, it’s going to force new responsibilities on us and it will inevitably put us in harm’s way.”
I said, “What’s the alternative?”
“The alternative is not to do it at all. Lay low and let events take their course.”
“And what does Klein’s model say about that?”
Navarro spoke up: “It says that, if we keep our heads down, the chance of the Tau Affinity surviving as a coherent group is to some degree enhanced. But the likelihood that our current civil society will survive is proportionally decreased. In neither scenario is any particular outcome guaranteed. We’re talking about probabilities here.”
“So that’s the question we need to answer,” Damian said. “If Klein is right, a kind of war is coming. Do we enlist, and maybe do some good? Or do we sit it out and try to survive?”
Amanda said, “We could take it to T-Net.”
“Sooner or later we will. I’ll be talking to all the major sodality reps. But we need to have a plan to show them. There’s no way to dodge the responsibility. Klein chose us for a reason.”
No one spoke. For a long moment there was only the sound of the rain playing cadences on the drumhead of the house.
* * *
It rained until after midnight. Come one o’clock, Navarro pled fatigue and most of us went to bed—all of us except the security guys on the night shift. And me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I went to sit on the back deck of the house.