“Absolutely,” said Maria.
“That’s true,” said Will. “But to beat back the Nazis, he thought it necessary to abandon Eastern Europe to the Soviet Union. He sold them out, left them to face a half-century of enslavement. And he knew it when it was happening. Imagine how he must have felt at night, when the lights were out.”
Nobody moved.
“Richard Nixon is another one.”
“Nixon?” This time it was Dennis who’d had too much. “Why do you say that, Will?”
“Dennis, he was a major figure in making us aware of climate problems. He opened the door to China. He made a number of contributions to the general welfare of the nation. But he did not believe in himself. Consequently he overplayed his hand and ultimately destroyed his presidency. Think about what was running through his mind on that last day, when he walked out of the White House, crossed the lawn and boarded that helicopter.”
I pointed at the clock.
Elaine was still on her feet. “Would you write a play for us, Will?”
“Of course. If you like.”
“A classic?”
“That would be someone else’s call.”
“Wonderful,” she said. The class applauded as the bell rang. “Could you do a comedy?”
“I think I can manage that.”
“How long do you think it will take?”
“I can have it for you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? You’ve already written one?”
“I’ll do it this evening.”
Dennis broke in to explain he and Will wouldn’t be able to get back for a few days.
“I’m sorry, Lou. I hate to tell you this but it isn’t going to happen.” Dennis stood staring at the open door as the last of the students left the room.
“He’s not really a Shakespeare clone.”
“That’s correct. It will try to put something together, but it’ll be dreary stuff.” He shook his head. “I thought he understood his limitations.”
“Well, Dennis, anyhow he put on a great show.” Students for the next class were beginning to file in. “Have you tried to let him write something?”
“No point. It’s not a true artificial intelligence. There’s no such thing. Probably never will be.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s a simulation.” He picked up the pod, closed it, and slipped it into his pocket. “You know what the Turing test is for artificial intelligence?”
“Not really.”
“When you put a computer and a person into a room, turn out the lights, and can’t tell which one you’re talking to just by asking questions. Will passes that one easily. But it doesn’t mean he can actually think.”
The drama class wouldn’t meet again until Wednesday, but a couple of them showed up at my office to tell me how much they’d enjoyed meeting Will, and that they were looking forward to seeing whether he could actually produce a Shakespearean play. I told them not to get their hopes up.
That evening I got a call from Dennis. “I’ve got it,” he said. “The title is Light of the Moon.”
“Have you looked at it?”
“More or less.”
“What do you think?”
“I’ll be interested in hearing your opinion.”
“Can you send me a copy?”
The title page read Light of the Moon by Dennis Colby. That of course was a joke of some sort, and warned me he probably did not have a high opinion of it. I got some coffee and got started. The opening pages suggested that Babes at Moonbase might have been a more descriptive title. Three young women arrive on the Moon to take up positions with the World Space Agency and, in their spare time, to find some quality males. Tanya is an astronaut who wants to qualify for the upcoming Jupiter flight; Gretchen is a physicist who hopes that the new orbiting Belcker Telescope Array will finally reveal signs of a living civilization somewhere; and Jeri is a doctor who came to the Moon primarily to forget a former boyfriend.
It was a comedy, but in the Renaissance sense that it was simply not a tragedy. Laughs were there. Nonetheless it was for the most part pure drama. And, I realized, as the action moved forward, a powerhouse. Tanya has to sacrifice her chance for the Jupiter flight to help a guy she doesn’t even like. Gretchen watches as the Belcker comes on line and the five superscopes look out toward Beta Galatia and see moving lights! But she realizes that neither she nor anyone else would ever have the opportunity to talk with whoever is out there, because Beta Galatia is 11,000 light years away. “They’re already dead and gone,” she says. “Like the pharaohs.”
And Jeri discovers that the lonely, graceful moonscapes only elevate her sense of loss.
“You really liked it that much?” Dennis said. He seemed surprised.
“It’s magnificent.”
“I thought it was pretty good, but—. I mean, Will’s not supposed to be able to perform at anything like this level.”
“Have I permission to give it to my students?”
They loved it. All except Frank Adams, who said it was okay. “A little over the top, though.” Frank never really approved of anything. He’d thought Our Town was slow.
In the spring, the Masque performed Light of the Moon to packed houses at the Dan Rodden Theater. It became the first show to leap directly from a collegiate stage to Broadway.
“Can he do anything else?” I asked Dennis. “Can he figure out how to go faster than light? Anything like that?”
He laughed. “He’s not programmed for science.”
“Has he written any other plays?”
“In fact, he has. JFK.”
“Is it as good?”
“Kennedy sweats out the 1962 Cuban missile crisis, knowing that he was the one who caused it when he put first-strike missiles into Italy and Turkey.”
“That sounds good,” I said. “Does Will get the byline this time?”
“No. And I’d be grateful if you’d just let that part of the story go away.”
“My students wondered what happened.”
“Lou, we had the biggest cosmological breakthrough of all time seven years ago. After decades, we finally got The Grand Unified Theory. You’ve heard of it, right?”
“Sure.”
“Do you know who figured it out?”
“Somebody named Winslow, wasn’t it?”
“His name is Wharton.”
“Oh, yes. Of course.”
“He won the Nobel.”
“Okay.”
“But you don’t know him.”
“Well, I’m not much into physics, Dennis. What’s this have to do with—?”
“Lou, I have a chance to be immortal. We have a new Stephen Hawking.”
“Oh,” I said. “Except the name is different.”
Dennis smiled. His eyes were focused on some faraway place.
OCULUS
The cockpit was illuminated by the instrument panel, and by the soft glow from Autumn’s rings. As we climbed toward orbit, George Blasingame sat quietly in the righthand seat, utterly absorbed by the knowledge of what we were carrying. The ultimate cargo. “You know, Kellie,” he said at last, “we already have the critical information about them. Even if we didn’t have the books, we have the window.” I knew he was talking about the oculus, the big circular window in the main room of the long-dead alien base below. From its mountaintop perch it looked out over the craggy moonscape, and provided a matchless view of the spectacle in the skies. But I had no idea what he meant.