The old quotation ran through his mind again, that the only thing needed for evil to triumph was that good men do nothing. Apart from table talk and agreeing with a lot of people who felt likewise, what had he been doing? he asked himself. The short answer was, "not a lot." Like everyone else, when he examined the facts honestly, he had looked to other things to busy himself with, all the time assuming in a vague kind of way that never quite crystallized consciously that "something" would happen.
In the past this had never been his way. He hadn't taken over Navcomms and built it into the largest and most dynamic division of the UN Space Arm by waiting for "things" to "happen." Things didn't just happen. People made them happen. A colleague had asked him once, back in the early UNSA days, if he really thought that a few dedicated people who believed in what they were doing could change the world. Caldwell had replied, "They're the only ones who ever have." Actually, it wasn't his own line; he had come across it as a quote by a woman anthropologist, or something, from way back. But it was a good one, and he didn't think she would have minded his stealing it. His former self was still around, speaking in his head now, asking him what he was going to do about it.
He was still tussling with the question at home that evening, missing half the things that Maeve was saying and bringing a new precipitation of frost on the domestic scene just when things had begun to thaw. About the only thing he'd done by the end of the evening, to make amends and assuage his conscience, was cancel his golfing fixture.
The next morning, a bottle of brandy arrived for him and a bunch of roses for Maeve, from Mildred. It reverted breakfast to its normal warm and sunny condition, and gave his confidence in human nature a boost after his negative musings. But Mildred had never belonged to that part of humanity whose nature he had ever doubted in the first place.
By the next day, after repeated metaphorical walks around the subject in his head to explore all possibilities and angles, he had satisfied himself that, quaint though it was, Mildred's simple suggestion didn't contain any hidden key that he should have recognized. Embarking on some kind of moral lecture tour through the world's corridors of power was unlikely to achieve anything of note except feed it into the gossip mill that the strain had gotten to Caldwell finally, and possibly-done with all due civility, of course, and the requisite honors for him to cosset in his doting years-cost him his job.
And even if he did get some serious and sympathetic attention here and there, the conflicts of interests were so tangled and the true motivations behind them so guarded that any initiative he might manage to spark would be diluted away by countermands and bureaucratic obstruction long before it cold grow into anything coordinated and effective on an global scale. He should know, having played a significant part in coordinating one of the biggest international ventures of modern times. But the Space Arm had come into being and been able to function as it had precisely because all the financial and political forces aligned behind it had stood to gain. They were unlikely to show the same capacity for concerted action when they saw themselves as being asked to renounce the very opportunities for expanding and diversifying and generally outperforming their rivals that had spurred them before.
Caldwell wasn't going to change human nature or the way it shaped the world; at least, not anytime soon. The only other factor in the equation was the Thurien disposition that viewed humans as violently disposed aliens-to be accommodated generously if their inclinations could be curbed and redirected; but if not… who knew what? On the face of it, Caldwell didn't see that he could do much to change that either. It would need something that lessened the distance between them emotionally and psychologically, so that the "alienness" was reduced; that made humans "family," the way he accepted Mildred within his Division of UNSA.
After Minerva's destruction, the Thuriens had shown their capability and potential willingness to form such close ties in the way they had taken the Lambian element of the Lunarians back and tried to integrate them into their civilization-later to become the Jevlenese. But that attempt had been marred by the intrusion of the Ents from the surreal world of computing symbology that came into being inside JEVEX. The Cerians, at their own request, had remained in their own Solar System after being transported to Earth and become the ancestral Terrans. The separation since then had produced the sense of alienism underlying the superficially cordial relations that existed now.
What was needed was some unifying event or experience that would overwhelm all other considerations, something momentous enough in the minds of Thuriens-and humans too-to weld their two races into one with a common future with the kind of affinity the Thuriens had been able to show for the Jevlenese. But what?
Then news came in from Hunt saying that Eesyan's group of Thurien scientists thought they had cracked the time line convergence problem. If so, it meant they were on the verge of getting coherent information back from other parts of the Multiverse. Caldwell spent several hours in his office, studying the report that followed and pondering on its implications. Slowly, a vision formed in his mind of a time when the gulf that divided them now hadn't existed; a time when the divergent histories of Ganymeans, Terrans, Lunarians, Jevlenese, all came together at a world that had existed long ago.
Enough thinking, he decided then. It was time to give rein to his instincts and circumvent the system. The old Irish adage that "contrition is easier than permission" came to mind. A warm, invigorating feeling of the old Gregg Caldwell moving into action again surged through him. He reached out to his deskside console and entered the code to access Advanced Sciences Division's channel into the Thurien net. VISAR's voice spoke a few seconds later.
"Gregg Caldwell. Hello, it's been a while."
"Yeah, well, you don't have a building full of people and a family at home to run."
"Try a couple of dozen star systems."
"Okay, you've got me. But it's nice to talk again."
"Likewise. What can I do for you?"
"Can you tell me how Calazar is fixed? I need to talk with him. And I'd like it to be face-to-face through the virtual system, not just a call."
"When did you have in mind?"
"Whenever it suits him. I'm free right now."
"Just a second."
Caldwell tapped his fingers absently, imagining a computer out at the other star interrupting an alien in the middle of something right now. It still seemed uncanny. Boy, had the church of Einstein gotten that one wrong.
Then, "Calazar says 'hi and great to hear from you.' He's coupled into the system now, as it turns out. If it's business, how about making it the Government Center in Thurios?"