Existence

A new Flood is coming…

After a third ring-damned technology-the synthetic voice of Wriggles spoke up.

“It is Tenskwatawa. We are behooved.”

Hamish relented, giving the slightest nod of permission. A faint click followed…

… and he winced as sudden, rhythmic, thumping sounds assaulted one eardrum. Dampers kicked in, filtering the cadence down to a bearable level. It was a four-four tempo, heavy on the front beat.

“Brookeman! You there? Damn it, how come you’re not wearing specs?”

Hamish grew tired of explaining why he only used aiware when necessary. You’d think a leader of the Renunciation Movement would understand.

“Where are you calling from, Prophet?”

“Puget Sound. A Quinalt potlatch ceremony. They hand-carve their own canoes and spears, stage a big sea hunt where they stab a robot orca, then come back and feast on vat-grown whale meat. Vat-grown! Bunch of tree-hugging fairies.

“Never mind. Have you made any progress on the Basque Chimera?”

“Both mother and child have gone underground. And pretty effectively. I figure they got help from elements in the First Estate.”

“I suspected as much. It’s not as if they could hide in plain sight. So. I’ll put some pressure on the trillies. It’s time for them to stop playing both sides and choose. One thing about aristos, they have an instinct for self-preservation.”

“True enough, sir.”

“So, what about that thing with Senator Strong? It’d be great if he can be salvaged. He’s been an asset.”

“I’ve been home one day,” Hamish answered. “I did hire a team of ex-FBI guys to gather prelims through discreet channels. Tap government files and such. Investigate the fellow who claims to have poisoned the senator. Forty-eight hours to gather background, before I take an overall look.”

“One of your trademark Big Picture brainstorms? Wish I could watch you do that some time.”

Hamish bit back a sullen response. It used to be flattering when important men asked him to consult and offer a wide perspective-pointing out things they missed. Now, the fun was gone. Especially since Carolyn pointed out something that should have been obvious.

“A hundred years from now, Hammi, what will be left of you?” she asked on the day they parted, ending all the anger and shouting with a note of regret. “Do you expect gratitude for all this conspiring with world-movers? Or to go down in history? Pick any of your novels. A book will still be around-read and enjoyed by millions-after that other crap has long faded. Long after your body is dust.”

Of course she was right. Yet, Hamish knew how the Prophet would answer. Without the Cause, there might not be any humanity, a century from now, to read novels or do anything else.

Still, thinking of Carolyn, he knew-she had also been talking about their marriage. That, too, was important. It should have been treated as something to last.

Tenskwatawa’s voice continued in his ear. “But that’s not why I’m calling. Can you get linked right away? There’s news coming in. And I already have my plate full. Got to attend a conference with some aristocracy in Switzerland. One of the big newblesse clans may finally get onboard and join the movement.”

“That’s great news.”

“Yeah, well, we need those rich bastards, so I can’t turn away, even when something more urgent turns up.”

Hamish felt pleasure turn to worry. “Something more urgent than getting support from some First Estate trillionaires?”

“I’m afraid so.” Tenskwatawa paused. “One of our people, Carlos Ventana, just managed to slide a blip to us, past NASA security. He reports that something big is up.”

“Ventana,” Hamish mused. The name was familiar. A rich Latin. Used to own the entire phone company in Brazil or someplace, till they broke his monopoly as part of the Big Deal. Then he moved into fertilizer.

“Did you say NASA? Are they still in business?”

“He’s playing tourist right now on the space station.”

“You mean the old research station. Not the High Hilton or Zheng Ho-tel?” Hamish shook his head, wondering why a bazillionaire would spend good money to go drift in filth for a month.

“That’s right. Wanted an authentic experience, I guess. Anyway, it’s pure luck-or destiny-that we had a friend aboard when it happened.”

“It? What happened?” Hamish barely quashed his irritation.

“The astronauts grabbed or recovered something out there. It’s got them all lathered up.”

“But what could they possibly have found that-”

“Details are sketchy. But it may be a second-order disturber. Perhaps even first- order.”

Hamish himself had come up with the “disturber” nomenclature a decade ago to classify innovations or new technologies that could threaten humanity’s fragile stability. Leaders of the Movement embraced his terminology, but Hamish always had trouble remembering the exact definitions. Of course, with specs on, he might have asked Wriggles for help.

“First order…,” he mulled.

“Oh, Jesus walks in the Andes. Do I have to spell it out, man? Government spacemen haul something in from the deep dark beyond… and it starts talking to them! Apparently, they’re deciphering a series of communications protocols, even as we speak!”

“Talking? You mean…”

“Maybe not real conversation. But enough to send folks running down the halls of the White House and Blue House and Yellow House, looking all sweaty. Even worse, too many pros in the pencil pushers’ guild know about it already-damned civil servants-for us to exert pressure and get a presidential clamp put on. News is gonna get out this time, Hamish.”

“From… space…” He blinked several times. “Either it’s a provocation-or a hoax-maybe some Chinese-”

“We should be so lucky!”

Hamish forged on.

“-or else, it is the real thing. Something alien. Oh man.”

Now it was Tenskwatawa who paused, letting the background beat of drums fill a pause between them. Bridging regular gaps of time, like the pounding of a heart.

“Oh man is right,” the Prophet finally murmured.

“This may be nothing. Or perhaps we can strike another deal with the pencil pushers. Distract the public and keep the lid on, once again.

“Still, it has terrible potential. We could be in real trouble, my friend. All of us. All of humankind.”

ENTROPY

What of destruction by devastating war? Shall we admit that our species passed one test, by not plunging into an orgy of atomic destruction?

Millions still live who recall the Soviet-American standoff-the Cold War-when tens of thousands of hydrogen bombs were kept poised in submarines, bombers, and silos. Half a dozen men at any time, some of them certifiably unstable, held the hair trigger to unleash nuclear mega-death. Any of a dozen crises might have ended civilization, or even mammalian life on Earth.

One sage who helped build the first atom bomb put it pungently. “When has man, bloody down to