“Then believe me,” Cardwell said desperately.
The pastor stared at him for a long moment, “Noah,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“I didn’t know the language. I saw him.”
The hand wavered.
“Listen to me. I was at the foot of the mountain when Moses returned with the Tablets. I saw him shatter them against the rocks. I watched Solomon give judgment and walked through his temple. I stood a few feet from David when he killed the Philistine. I was in the crowd when Jesus delivered the sermon on the mount.”
Perspiration glittered on Gant’s forehead. “You’re lying,” he said, “You’re mocking me. And blaspheming everything that’s holy. You’re a non-believer. I know about you. I’ve read what you’ve written.”
Cardwell smiled gently. “That was true once. George, I was on the shore during the storm when the Master stepped out of the boat. I looked into His eyes.”
The pastor tried to speak, but only strangled sounds got out.
“Gant, do you, at last, not believe?” His voice rose until it was one with the wind beating at the window. “Where is your faith?”
The gun clattered to the floor. A sob welled up in Gant’s throat, and he fell forward into Cardwell’s arms and almost knocked him down. But Cardwell held on, and the pastor embraced him. A log popped and fell into the fire.
“Thank you,” said Gant, finally, wiping his cheek. “I was terribly wrong to come here. Not to see what would happen.” His face brightened, and he squeezed Cardwell’s shoulders again. “I hope you’ll come by the church and share your experience with all of us.” And, without stopping for hat, coat, or gun, he walked straight out of the house.
When he was gone, they locked the door. “Dad,” Rick said, “you were terrific.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you going to call the police?”
“Maybe in the morning. Let me think about it.”
“I was scared.”
“So was I, kid.”
The boy picked up the weapon and put it on a bookshelf. He grinned. “The displacement principle doesn’t work, right? You told me that yesterday. The time machine won’t ever get off the ground.”
“That’s right.”
The boys eyes gleamed. “Don’t you have any respect at all for the truth, Dad?”
“Sometimes I think truth is overrated,” said Cardwell. “On that one, I believe I’m with the Christians. My money’s on faith.”
THE CANDIDATE
The high and low points of my career came on the same night: When we beat George Washington, and Peter Pollock returned to the White House for a second term.
Well, okay. It wasn’t really Washington; it was an artificial intelligence programmed to behave like Washington. But a lot of people got confused. When you’ve been in politics as long as I have, you know how easily people get confused. Fortunately.
The Washington campaign started as a gag, graduated into an experiment, caught fire, and became a full-fledged national effort. I can’t explain it. I don’t think anybody can. President Pollock’s numbers were down, but the Democratic candidate was a non-stop talker who put everybody to sleep, So we knew it would be a close race.
Then Washington showed up. He was a software package developed at the University of Georgia to play the part of the first president in seminars. He was so believable, and so compelling, that somebody at the school put him on a local radio show, and the next thing we knew he was well on his way to becoming a national phenomenon. At first, no one took him seriously. But people were desperate for a candidate they could believe in. The bloggers got in line almost immediately. The General gave an interview to the Florida Times-Union, the wire services picked it up, and by God he did sound like George Washington.
Next thing we knew a Federalist Party had sprung into existence, donations started showing up, first in small amounts, and ultimately in a tidal wave.
I was running the president’s campaign, and we all had a pretty good laugh when they tried to put him on the ballot in Georgia. The Democrats tried to block it. Candidates have to be born in the U.S., they pointed out. And they have to be at least thirty-five years old.
We could have stopped it then. But if Washington got into the general election, he’d pull votes from the Democrats, not from us. We knew our base wasn’t going to support a candidate who wasn’t even human. So I called in some favors and when the case went to the Supreme Court, they surprised the country: They examined the candidate and ruled they could find no reason to suppose he was not a Washington-equivalent—the first time that terminology was used. He was therefore clearly well past the minimum age limit, As to the requirement he be born in the United States, the software had been written in Georgia, and the meaning of ‘born,’ said the court, is not limited to biological events. It was a six-three decision.
Early on, Washington showed every sign of splitting the Democratic vote. I watched him a few times on cable, and he was persuasive. He didn’t like the frivolous spending. Didn’t like the fact that people who’d worked their entire lives couldn’t afford medications. Didn’t like the corruption he saw in the capital. I thought he came across as wooden, and maybe a trifle stern. Americans, I thought, don’t like being lectured.
They could have simply tied him into the programs, done the whole thing electronically, but somebody in his campaign was too smart for that. He was housed in a Coreolis 5000, and they dutifully set it on a table along with a screen. The screen provided an animated image from the Gilbert Stuart portrait, except they’d cut the general’s hair and put him in a dark gray business suit.
By midsummer he was making the rounds of the network talk shows. And I watched his polls continue to rise. The week before he made his first appearance on Meet the Press, he passed the Democratic candidate and moved into the runner-up spot.
At that point, the National Conservative Union threw its weight behind him, as did the ACLU. The National Rifle Association, always a friend of Pollock’s, announced it would sit the election out.
And I began to suspect I’d misjudged the voters. To start with, the liberal media was coming over to his side. After some hesitation, they’d decided the Democratic candidate was a lost cause. Russert, at first ill at ease talking to the Coreolis 5000, warmed to him. “Are you really George Washington?” he asked.
“The man’s dead,” said Washington, “Give him a break. But I’m everything he was.”
Russert asked about the intervention, which had by then become another of those endless wars. “We intended the nation to lead by example,” the General said. “We would not willingly have plunged into the affairs of others.” The Washington-image stared out of the TV screen. “Keep your own house in order. It is enough. Take care of your own. Do it competently, and the world will follow.”
We realized, belatedly, that we were in a race. After his appearance with Jon Stewart, there was no longer any doubt. “I would prefer,” he told the vast audience watching that night—a fifty-two share, according to Nielson—“that you not vote for me. And I’ll tell you why, Jon. It sets a bad precedent. People should be governed by other people, not by software systems. If the voters insist on putting me in, I will do my best. But I fear the long-term potential.” He thereby moved into virgin territory.
So we went after him. Used his own words. Doesn’t want the job. And we looked at his record. Only officer to survive the Battle of the Wilderness. What did that tell you about him? And do we really want a former slave-owner in the White House?
We knew we couldn’t touch him on national security, but we demanded to know where he stood on the issues. “What about Roe V Wade?”
“Put it aside for now,” he said. “At the moment, we have bigger problems.” We got some of our base back on that one.
“Gay marriage?”
“I cannot see that anyone is harmed. We should be careful about codifying moral strictures. They change too easi
ly.”
We got some more of our people back. But there was something reassuring about him.
We talked about Orwell and Frankenstein. Don’t ask me how that got in there, but it appealed to the voters so we kept hitting it. Vote for People, we said. We found a few physicists who were willing to say publicly that an artificial intelligence could develop a glitch. Could become very dangerous.
Would you trust the black box in the hands of a computer?
We held on. We were still holding at 2:00 A.M. election night, when we went down to the last district in Indiana, but we took the state by a few hundred votes and that put us over the top.
Pollock went on TV after Washington conceded. He said how we’d saved the nation from a hardware conspiracy. (He tends to say things like that when he gets off-script.) He thanked the campaign workers. And everybody cheered.
When it was over, he took me into his quarters to express his appreciation. A Rainbow 360, the newest model, rested on the coffee table. “We saved the country, Will,” he said. “We’ll get legislation passed to bar the damned things from holding office. Otherwise, I guess, they’ll trot out Abe Lincoln next time.”
“Yes,” I said. “And congratulations, Mr. President.” It meant four more years for me too. As chief political advisor.
“No. It’s not in the cards, Will.” He looked almost genuinely pained. “We have to look to the future.”
That was a shock. “What do you mean, sir?”
“It was a near thing, this election. We completely miscalculated our opponent’s strength. I mean, incumbent president and all. It should have been easy.”
“But—?”
“I need someone who won’t be taken by surprise.”
I was trying not to let my anger show. “Who did you have in mind, sir?”
He smiled at the Rainbow 360. “Will, meet Karl Rove.”
ACT OF GOD
I’m sorry about showing up on such short notice, Phil. I’d planned to go straight to the hotel when the flight got in. But I needed to talk to somebody.
Thanks, yes, I will take one. Straight, if you don’t mind.
You already know Abe’s dead. And no, it wasn’t the quake. Not really. Look, I know how this sounds, but if you want the truth, I think God killed him.
Do I look hysterical? Well, maybe a little bit. But I’ve been through a lot. And I know I didn’t say anything about it earlier but that’s because I signed a secrecy agreement. Don’t tell anybody. That’s what it said, and I’ve worked out there for two years and until this moment never mentioned to a soul what we were doing.
And yes, I really think God took him off. I know exactly how that sounds, but nothing else explains the facts. The thing that scares me is that I’m not sure it’s over. I might be on the hit list too. I mean, I never thought of it as being sacrilegious. I’ve never been that religious to start with. Didn’t used to be. I am now.
Did you ever meet Abe? No? I thought I’d introduced you at a party a few years ago. Well, it doesn’t matter.
Yes, I know you must have been worried when you heard about the quake, and I’m sorry, I should have called. I was just too badly shaken. It happened during the night. He lived there, at the lab. Had a house in town but he actually stayed most nights at the lab. Had a wing set up for himself on the eastern side. When it happened it took the whole place down. Woke me up, woke everybody up, I guess. I was about two miles away. But it was just a bump in the night. I didn’t even realize it was an earthquake until the police called. Then I went right out to the lab. Phil, it was as if the hill had opened up and just swallowed everything. They found Abe’s body in the morning.
What was the sacrilege? It’s not funny, Phil. I’ll try to explain it to you but your physics isn’t very good so I’m not sure where to start.
You know the appointment to work with Abe was the opportunity of a lifetime. A guarantee for the future. My ship had come in.
But when I first got out there it looked like a small operation. Not the sort of thing I’d expected to see. There were only three of us, me, Abe, and Mac Cardwell, an electrical engineer. Mac died in an airplane crash about a week before the quake. He had a pilot’s license, and he was flying alone. No one else was involved. Just him. FAA said it looked as if lightning had hit the plane.
All right, smile if you want to. But Cardwell built the system that made it all possible. And I know I’m getting ahead of things here so let me see if I can explain it. Abe was a cosmologist. Special interest in the big bang. Special interest in how to generate a big bang.
I’d known that before I went out there. You know how it can be done, right? Actually make a big bang. No, I’m not kidding. Look, it’s not really that hard. Theoretically. All you have to do is pack a few kilograms of ordinary matter into a sufficiently small space, really small, considerably smaller than an atomic nucleus. Then, when you release the pressure that constrains it, the thing explodes.
No, I don’t mean a nuke. I mean a big bang. A real one. The thing expands into a new universe. Anyhow, what I’m trying to tell you is that he did it. More than that, he did it thirty years ago. And no, I know you didn’t hear an explosion. Phil, I’m serious.
Look, when it happens, the blast expands into a different set of dimensions, so it has no effect whatever on the people next door. But it can happen. It did happen.
And nobody knew about it. He kept it quiet.
I know you can’t pack much matter into a space the size of a nucleus. You don’t have to. The initial package is only a kind of cosmic seed. It contains the trigger and a set of instructions. Once it erupts, the process feeds off itself. It creates whatever it needs. The forces begin to operate, and the physical constants take hold. Time begins. Its time.
I’d wondered what he was doing in Crestview, Colorado, but he told me he went out there because it was remote, and that made it a reasonably safe place to work. People weren’t going to be popping in, asking questions. When I got there, he sat me down and invited me to sign the agreement, stipulating that I’d say nothing whatever, without his express permission, about the work at the lab. He’d known me pretty well and I suddenly realized why I’d gotten the appointment over several hundred people who were better qualified. He could trust me to keep my mouth shut.
At first I thought the lab was involved in defense work of one kind or another. Like Northgate. But this place didn’t have the security guards and the triple fences and the dogs. He introduced me to Mac, who was a little guy with a beard that desperately needed a barber, and to Sylvia Michaels. Sylvia was a tall, stately woman, dark hair, dark eyes, a hell of a package, I’m sure, when she was younger. She was the project’s angel.
I should add that Sylvia’s also dead. Ran into a tree two days after the quake. Cops thought she was overcome with grief and wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing. Single vehicle accident. Like Mac, she was alone.
Is that an angel like in show business? Yes. Exactly Her family owned a group of Rocky Mountain resorts. She was enthusiastic about Abe’s ideas, so she financed the operation. She provided the cash, Mac designed the equipment, and Abe did the miracles. Well, maybe an unfortunate choice of words there.
Why didn’t he apply for government funding? Phil, the government doesn’t like stem cells, clones, and particle accelerators. You think they’re going to underwrite a big bang?
Yes, of course I’m serious. Do I look as if I’d kid around? About something like this?
Why didn’t I say something? Get it stopped? Phil, you’re not listening. It was a going concern long before I got there.
And yes, it’s a real universe. Just like this one. He kept it in the building. More or less. It’s hard to explain. It extended out through that separate set of dimensions I told you about. There are more than three. It doesn’t matter whether you can visualize them or not. They’re there. Listen, maybe I should go.
Well, okay. No, I’m not upset. I just need you to hear me out. I’m sorry, I don’t kno
w how to explain it any better than that. Phil, we could see it. Mac had built a device that allowed us to observe and even, within limitations, to guide events. They called it the cylinder and you could look in and see star clouds and galaxies and jets of light. Everything spinning and drifting, supernovas blinking on and off like Christmas lights. Some of the galaxies with a glare like a furnace at their centers. It was incredible.
I know it’s hard to believe. Take my word for it. And I don’t know when he planned to announce it. Whenever I asked him, he always said when the time is ripe. He was afraid that, if anyone found out, he’d be shut down.
I’m sorry to hear you say that. There was never any danger to anybody. It was something you could do in your garage and the neighbors would never notice. Well, you could do it if you had Mac working alongside you.
Phil, I wish you could have seen it. The cosm—his term, not mine—was already eight billion years old, relative. What was happening was that time was passing a lot faster in the cosm than it was in Crestview. As I say, it had been up and running for thirty years by then.
You looked into that machine and saw all that and it humbled you. You know what I mean? Sure, it was Abe who figured out how to make it happen, but the magic was in the process. How was it possible that we live in a place where you could pack up a few grams of earth and come away with a living universe?
And it was living. We zeroed in on some of the worlds. They were green. And there were animals. But nothing that seemed intelligent. Lots of predators, though. Predators you wouldn’t believe, Phil. It was why he’d brought me in. What were the conditions necessary to permit the development of intelligent life? Nobody had ever put the question in quite those terms before, and I wasn’t sure I knew the answer.
No, we couldn’t see any of this stuff in real time. We had to take pictures and then slow everything down by a factor of about a zillion. But it worked. We could tell what was going on.
Cryptic - The Best Short Fiction of Jack McDevitt Page 52