Factoring Humanity Part 36

Brian Kyle Graves-another human being.

Fogarty fingered the stunner.

You know, according to the dossier, the guy did seem a decent-enough sort, and- And, well, certainly Fogarty wouldn't want somebody to do something like this to him.

Another step; he could hear the m.u.f.fled sound of Graves dictating into his word processor.

Fogarty stopped dead in his tracks. Christ, he'd eliminated more than two dozen problems in the last year alone, but- But- But- I can't do this, he thought. he thought. I can't. I can't.

He turned around and headed back up the curving hallway.

Kyle finished dictating his report and headed over to The Water Hole; he'd arranged to meet Stone Bentley there, with Stone coming directly from a meeting he'd had at the Royal Ontario Museum.

"You look in a good mood," said Stone as Kyle sat down opposite him.

Kyle grinned. "I feel better than I have for ages. My daughter has realized she was wrong."

Stone lifted his eyebrows. "That's wonderful!"

"Isn't it, though? It'll be my birthday in a few weeks-I couldn't ask for a better present."

A server arrived.

"A gla.s.s of red wine," said Kyle. Stone already had a mug of beer in front of him.

The server scurried away.

"I want to thank you, Stone," said Kyle. "I don't know if I could have gotten through this without you." Stone said nothing, so Kyle went on. "Sometimes it's not easy being a man-people tend to a.s.sume we're guilty, I guess. Anyway, your support meant a lot to me. Knowing that you'd gone through something a bit similar, and survived it, gave me-I don't know, I guess 'hope' is the right word."

The server reappeared, depositing Kyle's winegla.s.s. Kyle nodded thanks at the young woman, then lifted his drink. "To us-a pair of survivors."

After a moment, Stone lifted his beer and allowed Kyle to clink his gla.s.s against the mug. But Stone did not take a sip. He lowered his mug back to the tabletop and looked off in the distance.

"I did it," he said softly.

Kyle wasn't following. "Sorry?"

Stone looked at Kyle. "I did it . . . that girl, five years ago. I did hara.s.s her." He held Kyle's gaze for a few seconds, apparently searching for a reaction, then looked back down at the tablecloth.

"But the student recanted," said Kyle.

Stone made an almost imperceptible nod. "She knew she'd lost the fight and she was getting the cold shoulder from a lot of other male faculty members. She thought it would help." He did take a gulp of his beer now. "She transferred to York." He shrugged a little. "Fresh start."

Kyle didn't know what to say. He looked around the bar for a time.

"I didn't-" said Stone. "I know this doesn't excuse it, but I was going through a bad time. Denise and I were getting a divorce. I-" He stopped. "It was a stupid thing to do."

Kyle exhaled. "You spent all this time listening to me go on about my troubles with Becky."

Stone shrugged again. "I thought you were guilty."

Kyle's voice took on a sharp edge. "I told you I wasn't."

"I know, I know. But if you were were guilty, well, then you were a worse b.a.s.t.a.r.d than me, see? You're an okay guy, Kyle-I figured if a guy like you could do something that bad, well, then maybe it excused what I did a bit. Just something that sometimes happens, you know?" guilty, well, then you were a worse b.a.s.t.a.r.d than me, see? You're an okay guy, Kyle-I figured if a guy like you could do something that bad, well, then maybe it excused what I did a bit. Just something that sometimes happens, you know?"

"Christ, Stone."

"I know. But I won't ever do it again."

"Recidivism-"

"No. No, I'm different now. I don't know what it is, but I've changed. Something in me has changed." Stone reached into his pocket, pulled out his SmartCash card. "Look, I'm sure you don't want to see me anymore. I'm glad it worked out between you and your daughter. Really, I am." He rose to his feet.

"No," said Kyle. "Stay."

Stone hesitated for a few moments. "You sure?"

Kyle nodded. "I'm sure."

On Tuesday morning, Heather was struggling up the steps to Mullin Hall, her arms full of books she wanted to have handy at Kyle's lab for tomorrow's press conference. The humidity was mercifully low today, and the sky overhead was a pristine cerulean bowl.

Just in front of her was a familiar-looking broad back wearing a Varsity Blues jacket with the name "Kolmex" emblazoned on it-the same dumb lug who had let the door to Sid Smith slam in Heather and Paul's faces two weeks ago.

She thought about calling out to him, but to her astonishment, when he reached the door, he stopped, looked around to see if anyone was coming, caught sight of Heather, opened the door and held it for her.

"Thank you," she said as she pa.s.sed the fellow.

He smiled at her. "My pleasure. Have a nice day."

The funny thing, Heather thought, was he sounded like he really meant it.

41.

We Are Not Alone.

It was the t.i.tle of the book that had first raised public awareness about the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence. The book, by Walter Sullivan, former science editor of The New York Times, The New York Times, was published in 1964. was published in 1964.

Back then, it had been a bold a.s.sertion, based on theory and conjecture but no actual evidence-there was not a scintilla of proof that we really weren't alone in the universe.

Humanity went about its business much as it always had. The Vietnam War continued, as did apartheid. Rates of murder and other violent crimes continued to rise.

We Are Not Alone.

The slogan was revived again for the release of Steven Spielberg's film Close Encounters of the Third Kind Close Encounters of the Third Kind in 1977. The public freely embraced the idea of life in the universe, but still there was no real evidence, and humanity continued along as it always had. The Gulf War happened, and so did the ma.s.sacre in Tiananmen Square. in 1977. The public freely embraced the idea of life in the universe, but still there was no real evidence, and humanity continued along as it always had. The Gulf War happened, and so did the ma.s.sacre in Tiananmen Square.

We Are Not Alone.

The words received new currency in 1996 when the first compelling evidence of life off Earth was unveiled: a meteorite from Mars that had conked no one on the head in the Antarctic. Extraterrestrial life was now more than just the stuff of dreams. Nonetheless, humanity behaved as usual. Terrorists blew up buildings and airplanes; "ethnic cleansings" continued unabated.

We Are Not Alone.

The New York Times, bringing it full circle, used that headline in 144-point type on the front page of the July 25, 2007, edition-the day the first public announcement of the receipt of radio signals from Alpha Centauri was made. We knew for a fact that life-intelligent life-existed elsewhere. And yet, humanity's ways did not change. The Colombian War happened, and on July 4, 2009, the Klan ma.s.sacred two thousand African Americans across four states in a single night. bringing it full circle, used that headline in 144-point type on the front page of the July 25, 2007, edition-the day the first public announcement of the receipt of radio signals from Alpha Centauri was made. We knew for a fact that life-intelligent life-existed elsewhere. And yet, humanity's ways did not change. The Colombian War happened, and on July 4, 2009, the Klan ma.s.sacred two thousand African Americans across four states in a single night.

But then, just over ten years after the signals were first received, a different thought echoed through the fours.p.a.ce overmind and percolated down into the threes.p.a.ce realm of its individual extensions.

I Am Not Alone. Am Not Alone.

And things did did change. change.

"Journalists are often accused of reporting only bad news," said Greg McGregor, anchoring the Newsworld telecast from Calgary on Tuesday evening.

Kyle and Heather sat on their living-room couch, his arm around her shoulders, watching.

"Well," continued McGregor, "if you saw our newscast from the top this evening, you'll have noted that today we had nothing but good news to report. Tensions have eased in the Middle East-as recently as a week ago, U.S. secretary of state Bolland was predicting another outbreak of war there, but today, for the second day in a row, the cease-fire remains unbroken.

"Here in Canada, a new Angus Reid instant opinion poll shows that eighty-seven percent of Quebecois want to remain part of Canada-a twenty-four-percent increase over the response to the same question just one month ago.

"There have been no murders reported in Canada for the past twenty-four hours. No rapes, either. Statistics from the United States and the European Community seem similar.

"In eighteen years on the job, this reporter has never seen such a run of really nice nice news. It's been a pleasure being able to share it all with you." He tipped his head, as he did each night, and gave his standard sign-off: "And another day pa.s.ses into history. Good night, Canada." news. It's been a pleasure being able to share it all with you." He tipped his head, as he did each night, and gave his standard sign-off: "And another day pa.s.ses into history. Good night, Canada."

The ending theme music began to play. Kyle picked up the remote and clicked the TV off.

"It is is nice, isn't it?" said Kyle, leaning back in the couch. "You know, I've noticed it myself. People giving up seats on the subway, helping others, and just being polite. It must be something in the air." nice, isn't it?" said Kyle, leaning back in the couch. "You know, I've noticed it myself. People giving up seats on the subway, helping others, and just being polite. It must be something in the air."

Heather shook her head. "No, it's not something in the air-it's something in s.p.a.ce." s.p.a.ce."

"Pardon?" said Kyle.

"Don't you see? Something completely new has happened. The overmind knows that it's not alone. I told you: contact has been made between the human overmind and the overmind of Alpha Centauri. And the human overmind is experiencing something it's never experienced before."

"Astonishment, yes. You said that."

"No, no, no. Not astonishment; not anymore. It's experiencing something else, something entirely new to it." Heather looked at her husband. "Empathy! Until now, our overmind had been utterly incapable of empathy; there simply was no one else for it to identify with, no one else whose situation, feelings, or desires it could come to understand. Since the dawn of consciousness, it has existed in absolute isolation. But now it's touching and being touched by another overmind, and suddenly it understands something other than selfishness. And since the overmind understands that, all of us-all the extensions of that mind-suddenly understand it, too, in a deeper, more fundamental way than we've ever understood it before."

Kyle considered. "Empathy, eh?" He drew his mouth into a frown. "Cheetah kept asking about things that demonstrated man's inhumanity to man. He said it seemed to be a test-and wanted to know who was administering the test. I guess the answer was that we we were-we, the human collective, trying to understand, trying to make sense of it all." were-we, the human collective, trying to understand, trying to make sense of it all."

"But we couldn't," couldn't," said Heather. "We were incapable of true, sustained empathy. But now that we're in contact with another overmind, we understand what it means to acknowledge and accept the other. What man could rape a woman if he really put himself in her place? The fundamental of war has always been dehumanizing the enemy, seeing him as a soulless animal. But who could go to war knowing that the other guy is a parent, a spouse, a child? Knowing that he or she is simply trying to get through life, just like you are? said Heather. "We were incapable of true, sustained empathy. But now that we're in contact with another overmind, we understand what it means to acknowledge and accept the other. What man could rape a woman if he really put himself in her place? The fundamental of war has always been dehumanizing the enemy, seeing him as a soulless animal. But who could go to war knowing that the other guy is a parent, a spouse, a child? Knowing that he or she is simply trying to get through life, just like you are? Empathy!" Empathy!"

"Hmm," said Kyle. "I guess Greg McGregor is going to be reporting news like that every night from now on. Oh, there'll still be hurricanes and floods-but there will also be more people pitching in to help out whenever something like that happens." He paused, considering. "Do you suppose this is first contact for the Centaurs, too? Alpha Centauri is the closest star to the sun, but the reverse is also true-there's no bright star closer to Alpha C than Sol. Surely we're their first contact, too."

"Maybe," said Heather. "Or maybe the Centaurs aren't native to Alpha Centauri. Maybe they're from somewhere else, and have made it only as far as Alpha Centauri in their expansion. Maybe there already was life on a planet of Alpha Centauri, and the two races have already made friends. There could be a galactic overmind forming, expanding outward from whatever world first acquired s.p.a.ce flight."

Kyle thought about this. "Darn clever, these Centaurs," he said.

"How do you mean?"

"They get us to be empathetic as a race before they arrive in the flesh." He paused. "Unless, of course, they're coming to take us over and want to soften us up first."

Heather shook her head. She had been there when the contact had been made; she knew. knew. "No, it can't be that. First, of course, anybody who has interstellar flight could surely wipe this planet clean of life from orbit without ever worrying about whether we'd been 'softened up' or not. And second, now that the two overminds are in contact, real communication will doubtless ensue-and we both know that there are no secrets in psychos.p.a.ce." "No, it can't be that. First, of course, anybody who has interstellar flight could surely wipe this planet clean of life from orbit without ever worrying about whether we'd been 'softened up' or not. And second, now that the two overminds are in contact, real communication will doubtless ensue-and we both know that there are no secrets in psychos.p.a.ce."

Kyle nodded.

Heather looked at him, then: "We should get to bed. Tomorrow's a big day, with the press conference and all."

"Things are going to change," said Kyle. "The world . . ."

Heather smiled as she reflected on the peace she'd made with her own past, on the peace Kyle had made with his, and on all the wonders that they'd seen. "The world," she said, "will be a better place." But then her smile grew mischievous. "Still," she said, a twinkle in her eye, "let's take full advantage of our last night of real privacy." She took Kyle's hand and led him upstairs.

Epilogue.

Two Years Later: September 12, 2019 The s.p.a.ceship had been detected four months ago. Until then, its fusion exhaust had been lost in the glare of Alpha Centauri, now some 4.3 light-years behind it. The exhaust was pointed directly at Earth: the ship was braking, tail-first. It had apparently accelerated away from Alpha Centauri for six years and had now been decelerating for another six.

And today, at long last, it would reach its destination.

It was sad, in a way; it was now fifty years since Neil Armstrong first set foot upon the Moon, but Earth had no crewed s.p.a.ceships that could go even that far anymore-even the knowledge that there was life elsewhere hadn't revitalized the s.p.a.ce program. Although the Ptolemy Ptolemy probe in the outer solar system had managed to send back a few grainy shots of the alien ship, humanity's first clear look at it would be when it arrived at Earth. probe in the outer solar system had managed to send back a few grainy shots of the alien ship, humanity's first clear look at it would be when it arrived at Earth.

No one was quite sure what would happen next. Would the aliens take up orbit around the planet? Or would they land somewhere-and if so, where? Were there indeed any aliens on board, or was the ship just an automated scout?

At last the ship did enter orbit around Earth. It was a fragile-looking affair, almost a kilometer long-clearly meant only for s.p.a.ce travel. All six of the United States's s.p.a.ce shuttles had been launched before the arrival, one a day for the last six days. And two j.a.panese shuttles, plus three European ones and one from Iran had gone up as well; more human beings were now in orbit around Earth than ever before.

The alien ship was in low-Earth orbit-a good thing, too; most of the shuttles couldn't manage much more. Everyone waited for the big ship to deploy some sort of landing craft, but it never did. Radio messages were exchanged-for the very first time, human beings sent a reply to the Centaurs. The sad truth was that Earth had about twice the surface gravity of the Centaur homeworld. Although the beings aboard the starship-there were 217 individuals on it-had come forty-one trillion kilometers, the last two hundred represented a gulf they could never cross.

Earth's international s.p.a.ce station had grown over the years, but there was no way for the starship to dock with it; the aliens were going to have to s.p.a.ce-walk over. They moved their ship until the gap between it and the closest point on the station was about five hundred meters.

Every camera aboard the station and the flotilla of shuttles was trained on the alien ship, and every television set down on the planet was watching the drama unfold; for once, all of humanity was tuned into the same program.

The alien s.p.a.ce suits gave no hint of what the creatures within might look like; they were perfectly spherical white bubbles, with robotic arms extending from them, and a mirrored-over viewing strip that ran horizontally just above the sphere's equator. Five of the aliens left the mothership and were propelled by jets of compressed gas across the gulf toward an open cargo bay on the s.p.a.ce station.

There was a possibility that the aliens might not remove their suits even after they reached the station-gravity might not be the only thing that differed between the two worlds. Indeed, it was possible that the aliens had a taboo against showing their physical form to others-that had been suggested more than once when their original radio messages failed to contain any apparent representation of their appearance.

The first of the spheres came into the cargo bay. Its occupant used its jets to dampen most of its forward movement, but it still had to reach out with one multijointed mechanical hand to stop itself against the far bulkhead. Soon the other four spheres were safely motionless inside, too. They floated quietly, evidently waiting. The cargo door began to close behind them, very, very slowly-no threat, no trap; if the aliens wanted to leave, they could easily jet out of the bay before the door finished shutting.

But the spheres did not move, although one of them rotated around to watch the door coming down.

Once the bay was sealed, air was pumped in. The aliens had to have done spectroscopic studies of Earth's atmosphere as they approached it; they must know that the gases entering the chamber now were the same as those that made up the planet's air, rather than some attempt to poison them with deadly fumes.