ReVISIONS (36 page)

I'd heard the words, but my mind just registered disbelief. I swallowed, trying not to show any reaction. I couldn't afford to make myself suddenly visible. World government? They couldn't be serious. At that moment, I was really glad to be sitting there, if this was what they were really planning.

“Our own government, as you know, has been resistant to our plans, and time is running out.” He leaned forward on the podium. “We scare them and they don't really know why. That's why they passed that anti-cloning legislation in the first place, not for any ethical consideration. The antitrust actions we've had to face have been another mark.” There were mutters of assent. He held up a hand. “But we will start dying soon. One by one, we will disappear.” There were nods and low grumbles from the audience. “So, we have choices to make, here, today, that will impact the future and what happens.”

He paused for maximum effect, then stood tall. “We have a lot of work to do today. If you would now follow your agendas and head to your assigned breakout rooms, we will reconvene here in three hours.”

One by one, the Einsteins stood and filed out through the side doors into the cluster of meeting rooms.

I was kept pretty busy over the next three hours, checking connections, walking various Einsteins through the e-mail connect procedures and generally troubleshooting what they needed. Inside, I was still reeling from what I'd heard, trying to come to terms with it, trying to believe it and understand. I had a responsibility now, to find out what they planned and to let people know. Well, that's what I thought.

The three hours finally passed and I headed back into the auditorium to take up my place at the side table, watching and waiting. Our Einstein headed back to the central microphone, waiting for the last of the other Einsteins to take their seats.

“I am pleased to say we've made good progress. From the information we've collated today, it's clear that we are farther along in the program than we thought. We are now in a position to commence our next generation, our successors. We may not have the time to finish what we've started. You, me, every one of us will die some time in the next few years, but we should have enough time to prepare those who will follow us—the next generation of Einstein—and we will have put enough in place for them to succeed where we have not yet succeeded. One world government guided by those who with their collective imagination can do more for the world than petty nations and politics and geographical boundaries and ideologies. This is what we must do. We, together and our next generation, our successors, and after them, their successors, however long it takes.”

The Einstein at the podium waited, looking out over the heads of his assembled brethren. The sea of old guy faces looked back. Slowly, slowly, he removed his finely tailored dark blue jacket, stepped back and draped it over the back of a chair. The others watched in silence. The way they all held themselves was almost reverent. I frowned, and watched, not really understanding what was about to happen. Just as slowly, he returned to the podium, then unbuttoned and rolled up his right sleeve. He held the arm aloft, his hand closed into a fist, turned out toward the audience.

“We cannot forget,” he said. “We cannot let this happen again.”

I glanced up at the big screen, then down at the small screen from where the video was being fed and leaned closer. There was something on the outside of the Einstein's forearm, faded blue and etched deep into the pale and aging flesh. Whatever it was had blurred with time, but it looked sort of like a row of numbers running at a slight angle. A couple of the Einsteins sitting in the front row gently gripped their own forearms, lightly squeezing. There was a ripple of motion through the entire auditorium.

“We mustn't forget,” said the Einstein at the podium again. “We
will
be the last.”

One or two of the shaggy heads nodded. Others closed their eyes. As I thought about it, I realized I'd never seen any of the Einsteins in anything other than long sleeves.

I looked back from the auditorium down at the small screen. The Einstein at the podium slowly lowered his arm and rebuttoned his sleeve. He scanned the assembled faces. Slowly, slowly, there came a spark of understanding. I started to comprehend what was going on here. A deep chill rose inside me. If that mark really meant what I thought it did . . .

I swallowed and looked back up at the podium.

“I think we all know what we need to do. Each one of us will communicate with our appropriate counterparts to put the plans in motion over the next few weeks. The minutes from the breakout sessions will help guide us as a first step. They will be transmitted through our secure network as always.”

He gripped the sides of the pedestal with the CompuSoft logo etched clearly on the front and then nodded once more.

“Thank you all for coming.”

Slowly, then gently swelling around the auditorium, applause broke out, then died away. One by one, the Einsteins got to their feet, in their shirts and their suits and their sports jackets. One by one, they filed out of the auditorium in their trousers, their jeans, their chinos, their loafers, or smart business shoes in groups and singly, a sea of old shaggy heads and mustaches, washing out of the room, carrying their collective wisdom and perception and their vast imagination with them.

The Einstein at the podium waited for the others to leave, then stepped down from the stage and walked over to the table with my equipment and the wires and leads. This was our Einstein, CompuSoft's Einstein. He stood in front of the table for a few moments watching me as I shut down the equipment and busied myself with unplugging leads and putting things away.

“The session went well, I thought,” he said.

“Yes, it seemed to,” I responded without meeting his eyes. The hollow chill was still nestled inside me and my mouth was dry. I swallowed. It was hard to meet the enormity of my realization face-to-face.

“Ray—it is Ray, isn't it?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Einstein,” I said, stopping what I was doing and looking up into his speculative gaze.

What had they been through? What had they seen? They'd just been kids.

He waited for a few seconds, watching my face with those deep, puppy-dog eyes. “Ray, I want to thank you for your help today.”

“No,” I said. “Thank you, Mr. Einstein.”

“We value our employees at CompuSoft. We value all of our people. It's a good company. We're doing good things. You do understand that, don't you, Ray? We're doing good things.”

I waited.

The Einstein cleared his throat. “You know we've put together resources. You know we have our means. It's something I try and spell out in the company vision. They're important things, vision and trust, particularly trust. I hope I can trust you to . . .”

“You've no need to say anything, Mr. Einstein,” I said.

He nodded once more. “Thanks again, Ray,” he said. He cleared his throat one more time, then turned and walked from the auditorium, disappearing out the side door. I stood there for some time, watching the door, then let out a long slow breath, turning back to pack away the last of the gear. Maybe he thought that those few words were enough. I was just one of the little guys, after all. It didn't matter. But I kept remembering what I'd seen.

Once I was done, I headed out to find a trolley to load the equipment, thinking all the while. As I left the vast room, I looked at all those empty seats, my hand hovering above the red light switches on their stainless steel panel. A sea of Einsteins. I shook my head, killed the lights, and shut the door behind me.

There were questions, of course, from the other guys. I sidestepped most of them. Oh, you know, standard corporate stuff, rah, rah, all pretty boring really.

So do they meet like that often?

I simply shrugged and said I guessed so. Wouldn't you? They're sort of family, aren't they?

It seemed to satisfy them. There was a bit more discussion during the rest of the afternoon, but I tried to stay out of it as much as I could. I was still thinking of the pictures that lingered in my head, what they really meant. I thought about what our Einstein had started to say. I packed up as soon as I could and left, making my way through our clean, well-maintained, suburban streets to home.

 

Mary was waiting for me eagerly when I got home, barely able to restrain the questions.

“So . . . ?”

“Let me get in at least, hon,” I said to her. I wasn't really sure how much I was going to end up telling her.

She hovered about while I dumped my things and got rid of the jacket.

I stood where I was, my hands resting on the back of a chair, composing my thoughts.

“So, come on.”

“Okay, okay. I'm thinking.”

I didn't know how much I should tell her. Our very own Einstein's unspoken request was still hanging with me. But Mary was my wife, my partner, she had a right to know as much as I knew. I figured it couldn't do any harm.

“You'd better sit down,” I told her.

She pulled out a chair and sat, a frown on her face. “What is it, Ray? This sounds serious.”

“Okay, well they had a meeting. All of them. All the Einsteins. They were all there. It was really weird.”

“Wow,” she said. “All of them?”

“Yeah.” I shook my head, still only half believing it myself. “It was the strangest thing to look at. You get used to seeing them all the time, but all at once, all together . . .”

“How many?”

“I think he said there were two hundred and twelve left, or something like that.”

“Wow.” The word was long and drawn out. “So, what did they talk about? You said you thought they were up to something. Were they?”

I looked at her long and hard. “Yeah, in a way. They reckon they're going to make more of them. More Einsteins.”

She looked at me blankly. “How can they do that?”

I shrugged. “They're Einsteins. They'll find a way.”

“But that can't be right. How can they? Isn't it illegal? I seem to remember something about them banning it. I'm right, aren't I? They already have too much power. You've got to tell someone, Ray.”

I reached across the table and took her hand. I placed my other hand gently over the top of it. “I don't think so, hon,” I told her. “I think they know what they're doing. Remember, they're Einsteins. They're a lot smarter than us.”

She didn't look convinced.

I patted her hand gently. “Trust me, Mary. It'll be all right. I spoke to our Einstein today. I actually spoke to Mr. Einstein himself. They do know what they're doing. They really do. Come on. Let's go and watch TV for a while, then we can think about dinner. It's been a pretty full day. I just want to relax for a while and not really have to think about anything else, okay?”

She nodded, slowly.

After all, I knew, there was someone else to do the thinking about the really big stuff. There really was.

Mary seemed satisfied for the time being and if it came up again I knew I'd be able to reassure her. I was confident about that much, at least.

We headed into the living room and took our place on the couch. As the Einstein-Warner logo came up on the screen, I caught myself in the middle of a half-formed smile.

 

 

 

 

Geoffrey A. Landis is a scientist and a science fiction writer. As a scientist, he is a physicist who works for the NASA John Glenn Research Center. He was a member of the rover team on the Mars Pathfinder mission, and is currently a member of the science team for the exciting Mars Exploration rovers mission. He holds four patents, and is the author of approximately 250 scientific papers on subjects. As a writer, he has won two Hugo Awards, the most recent in 2003 for his story “Falling Onto Mars.” He won the Nebula Award in 1990 for “Ripples in the Dirac Sea.” His novel
Mars Crossing
won the Locus award for best first novel in 2001. His most recent book, the short story collection
Impact Parameter (and Other Quantum Realities)
was published in November 2001. It was named as a notable book of 2001 by
Publishers Weekly.
His many science fiction stories have been translated into nineteen languages, ranging from Chinese through Turkish. He lives in Berea, Ohio, with his wife, writer Mary A. Turzillo, and two cats.