“Before you do, Gregory, there is one thing we’d need to clarify. You, personally, are on record as being opposed to the effort to promote starflight.”
“Well, that’s not quite accurate. I think interstellar exploration is fine. I’m just not sure it should be a high priority for taxpayer funds at the moment.”
“Yes.” He glanced at something far away. The smile looked a bit pained. “I understand the distinction, of course. Unfortunately, we have some people on our board who perceive you, you, not the magazine, as an active opponent to the effort to take humanity to the stars.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Charlie.”
“What we’d like you to do is soften your stand somewhat.”
“What would you suggest?”
“Oh. Nothing major. Just maybe an editorial pointing out that you do favor the expansion of the human spirit into deep space. Something to that effect.”
“You know, Charlie, you’re right. That’s exactly how I feel. I’m not entirely sure what it means, but I’m for it.”
There was a moment of confusion while Dryden considered what MacAllister was saying. Then the smile came back. “Excellent. Then there’s no problem.”
“ — But I won’t write the editorial.”
“Well, a simple statement on one of the interview shows would probably be sufficient.”
“I’m sorry, Charlie. It’s not on my list of priorities at the moment. Orion is welcome to take advertising space with The National, or not, as it pleases. But you don’t get to dictate editorial policy. I enjoyed talking with you.”
HE SPENT THE evening reading a new novel by Judah Winslow, a young man who had a magnificent career in front of him. He’d just finished the book and was about to call it a night when Tilly let another caller through. “Anthony DiLorenzo,” the caller said. “I’m a physicist. University of Cairo.”
“What can I do for you, Dr. DiLorenzo?”
He looked like the Ancient of Days. Lined face, white whiskers, full jowls, watery eyes. “I saw the show you did last week. Up Front.”
“Okay.”
“I’m in full agreement. But you’ve missed the real boondoggle.”
“Which is what?”
“The Origins Project. It costs tens of billions.”
“I’m aware of what it costs, Doctor. At the moment we’re fighting one battle at a time. Anyhow, the bulk of the funding for it comes from the Europeans.”
“It doesn’t matter. I suggest you fight this one and forget the Academy.”
“Why?”
“How much do you know about Origins?”
“Just that it’s expensive.”
“Did you know there’s a chance it could blow up?”
“Sure. That’s why they moved it out to 36 Ophiuchi.”
“Mr. MacAllister, actually it’s located several light-years the other side of 36 Ophiuchi.”
“What are you trying to tell me, Doctor?”
“It might not be far enough.”
That got his attention. “What do you mean? What kind of explosion are they expecting?”
“They aren’t expecting one, but they are concerned about the possibility.”
“Could you explain, please?”
“Several kinds of miscarriages are possible. But, since they are where they are, we need only concern ourselves with one.”
“Okay.”
“Worst-case scenario: It’s possible an event at Origins could destroy the Earth.”
“Doctor, they are light-years away.”
“The Origins Project is a hypercollider, Mr. MacAllister. Nothing remotely like it has ever been built before. And it’s probably perfectly safe.”
“Probably.”
“There’s an outside chance that the thing could tear a hole in the fabric of space.”
“A hole in space? What does that mean, exactly?”
“If it happens, the end of everything.” He began trying to explain, citing equations and theorems that meant nothing to MacAllister.
“Wait a minute,” MacAllister said, finally. “What’s everything? You mean the entire project might blow up?”
“The entire universe, sir. Everything.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“The chance that it would happen is remote. But there is a chance.”
“Give me a number.”
“Maybe one in a million. It’s hard to say.”
“One in a million they could blow up the universe.”
“That’s not precisely what would happen. But the effect would be the same.”
“Do the people in charge agree with your assessment?”
“Some think the odds are longer. Some that there is no chance at all. It’s possible the odds are very low. We simply do not know.”
“What’s the point of the research?”
“To learn how the Big Bang was generated.” His eyes bored into MacAllister. “You have influence in high places. Get it stopped.”
“Give me the children until they are seven and anyone may have them afterward.” Francis Xavier’s comment. A child’s mind is open to learn, and it is a cruel and heartless thing to fill it with myth disguised as history, to impose upon it a bogus lifelong perspective, and close it up again, leaving it proof against common sense and all argument. Surely, if there is a hell, people who do this are the ones who will get their tickets punched.
A judgment by the God who devised the quantum system should be considerably different from the one the Reverend Koestler envisions. I gave you a sky full of stars, and you never raised your eyes. I gave you a brain, and you never used it.
— Monday, February 23
MOTHER APOLOGIZES FOR SON’S ATTACK ON PREACHER
“Always a Difficult Child”
chapter 13
An optimist is somebody who thinks our various political and social systems, schools and churches, support groups and Boy Scout troops, jury trials and congressional committees, are on the up-and-up. That they are intended for the benefit of the members. The reality is that they are designed to keep everyone in line.
— Gregory MacAllister, “Red Flags”
When Asquith arrived at his office in the morning, several of his staff surrounded him, telling him how good he’d been, how he’d struck exactly the right note, how he couldn’t have done more for the Academy. Hutch was in the lobby a half hour later when he came out of one of the conference rooms. She saw that the happy talk had had no effect. The commissioner knew. He flicked a pained smile at her and shook his head. Then he was gone, down the corridor that led to his office.
She felt sorry for him. He wasn’t really a bad guy. Had he not gotten into politics, he would probably have been okay.
She returned to her own suite and went back to work on the rescheduling. She was bringing the Colbys back to Union, one by one, and arranging to have them removed from service. That meant telling people who thought they’d arranged transportation a year or so ago that their projects were delayed or canceled.
Four of the eight Colbys were engaged in survey work, which consisted of visiting and mapping star systems along the frontier. She had done a lot of that in her time. It was easily the most exciting assignment a pilot could get because you never really knew what you might find. The researchers had always maintained they were interested primarily in their specialties, gas giant climatology, ring system formation, volcanic influences on the origin of life, and so on. But they were just like the pilots: They lived for the day when they’d blunder onto an advanced society. When they entered a system and somebody said hello.
It had never really happened. Not in the sense that we found our technological equals.
Nor, of course, had we found the possibility that really gripped the imagination: a million-year-old civilization. The evidence so far indicated that societies rose, flourished for a brief period, and declined. Or fell precipitously. It was still too early in the game to draw general conclusions, but Hutch was beginning to suspect no long-term civilizations existed.
She reluctantly drew red lines through four scheduled flights. She rearranged things to keep imminent operations on track and give those who were being canceled at least two months’ warning. That meant moving everybody around a bit. She knew sometimes the programs couldn’t be carried out if the timing was thrown off, but she did it anyhow. When she was satisfied she could do no more, she called Asquith.
“I’m going to notify these people today,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll be hearing from them. They are not going to be happy.”
His eyes slid shut. It was hard, being persecuted by a shortsighted world. “Hutch, I wish you would rethink this.”
“I got the report on the Heffernan this morning.” She explained to him how the pressure generated in the jump engines weakens the entire system over time. “Nobody was killed on this flight, but it need not have happened that way. It could have blown up in their faces. There are other problems as well, and they can’t all be fixed. Michael, we do not want to continue with things as they are.”
“I think we need to avoid going off half-cocked, Priscilla.”
She sent him a document. “This is a copy of the maintenance report on the Barringer. It’s Lakschmi class.”
He stared at it. Squinted. “It’s a bit technical. What’s it say? Plain English.”
“Unsafe.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “That’s a ninth ship.”
“It’s going to require extensive work. Costs more money in the long run than replacing it.”
“Okay.”
“Is that okay, make the schedule changes, or okay we’ll buy a new ship?”
“Make the changes, Hutch. Maybe it’s just as well. Maybe it’ll put some pressure in the right places.”
IT WAS TIME. She’d been stalling on the later cancellations, hoping some divine intervention would occur and she wouldn’t have to go through with them. But there was no way that could happen.
She could have simply sent notifications to everybody who was involved. They would have responded by calling Asquith and yelling at him. Which he profoundly deserved. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
She’d canceled sixteen missions that would have gone out over the next six months, and rescheduled twenty-seven others. Altogether twenty-three organizations were involved. “Let’s start with the cancellations,” she told Marla. Get the really ugly ones out of the way first.