Voyage to Alpha Centauri: A Novel (19 page)

   Since that time, we have completed two-thirds of the outbound stage of the journey. The committee would therefore be most grateful if you would consider giving another public lecture, on any topic of your preference. If this request meets with your approval, I would be pleased to discuss the details of time and venue at your earliest convenience.

   Could we meet tomorrow, say at 1000 hours?

   With cordial best wishes,

   Dr. Elif Larson, PhD, DSoc, DG/GK

   Deputy Director, Department of Social Infrastructure

I sent a reply, telling the man I’d be happy to accept his invitation and would appear promptly at 1000 hours at his office door, if he wouldn’t mind sending me the physical address.

Within five minutes I received his answer:

   Delighted.

   Concourse C, DSI annex, Room 712.

   See you then.

   Best.

I did a quick search on the
max
. Eight thousand-plus articles on the life and times of Elif Larson. He is a Norwegian, just over forty years of age. Adjunct professor at a number of Nordic universities, founder of an Institute in New York City devoted to his theories. Often a speaker at conferences on “the deaggressivization of humankind”. Winner of prestigious awards too numerous to mention. A successful facilitator of group well-being in global conflict situations. He specializes in a field that he made “famous” (I never heard of it), called “Gemeinschaft / Gesellschaft Kinesiology”.

I looked it up.
Gemeinschaft
is a term for a form of community determined by local geographical proximity (one’s village, one’s neighborhood, one’s family).
Gesellschaft
is a community formed by selectivity: choosing one’s relationships from broad geographical and social resources, according to personal preferences. This distinctly urban practice has become the global norm.

He’s a social worker.

Day 2237
:

Oh boy. Oh my. Oh, what a slick operator—a genius in his own right. Let me describe my meeting with him.

Promptly at ten o’clock this morning, I presented myself before the doors of Gemeinschaft / Gesellschaft Kinesiology in Outer Space. Peering through the transparent barrier, I waved at a young woman typing merrily at her desk. She spotted me, said something inaudible into her
max
, and the double doors divided, permitting me entrance. As she hurried around the desk to greet me, any reticence I might have felt was dissolved by her friendly face and the enthusiastic hand-pumping she gave me.

“Dr. de Hoyos, it’s an honor, sir,
an honor
! Please come this way; Dr. Larson is expecting you.”

In the inner sanctum, Dr. Larson arose from behind his desk as a benevolent force of nature. He was a huge man, by which I mean unusually burly, though not fat. His face was a boy’s, glossy, handsome, and smiling, his countenance aged only by a receding hairline and the token crows-feet at the edges of his bright, warm eyes. He looked like somebody’s worldly-wise but kindly uncle standing duty at the barbeque in the back yard. The heartiness of his massive handshake nearly crushed my liver-spotted old claw. All told, this was a fellow well designed to disarm the most antagonistic of clients.

In interests of legal accuracy, I had brought along my lapel button recorder, a lovely item that I had purchased some years ago through the black market in Singapore. To the uninformed eye, it was no more than a tiny gold disk, with an image of a flowering cactus, encircled by the letters ACGA (Association of Cactus Growers of America). The flower sucked up every word spoken in its vicinity.

I will not transcribe the small talk (why waste time, why waste good paper?). Suffice it to say, that his manner throughout our meeting was relaxed and utterly charming. Moreover, he had done his homework. First, he enthused about my Nobels, my presence on the ship, and my willingness to give another lecture. Then he asked about certain details in my “recent” articles in scientific journals, things he had found stimulating but, he confessed, oblique to him. I explained the problematic parts; he asked supplementary questions (actually, quite good ones), and as they tapered off, we got down to the real, if unstated, purpose of the meeting.

We were now facing each other across his desk—actual wood, I think—with steaming coffee served in genuine porcelain cups and saucers. His hands were clasped before him on the desk top, conveying outreach toward me. My hands were folded neutrally on my lap, though every other part of me communicated pleasure and relaxation. I acted as if I were soaking it up with dignified, greedy abandon.

“I’m really tickled, Dr. Larson, that you’ve made such an effort to understand these concepts. Very few people are able to do so.”

“Please call me Elif”, he smiled.

“Elif. And mine’s Neil.”

“Thank you, Neil. I hope I’m not becoming tedious when I say what an honor it is to have you on the ship.”

“Not at all”, I responded with a maidenlike, verbal blush. Good heavens, what can one reply to flattery like that?

“We were impressed by the response to your inaugural lecture. I must say in confidentiality that no subsequent talk by others has prompted such a positive reaction.”

“Thank you.”

I mean,
What
? I mean, don’t be a ridiculous elf! I had no feedback other than about twenty people asking me for the name of the symphony’s composer. Xue’s talk in the second year was superior to mine, stunning actually, so good that I almost suggested to him (Xue) that he should forget this ink-drawing business and get himself onto the lecture circuit. Dr. Pagnol’s talk on species adaptation was also a corker. As was Dr. Teal’s on anti-matter.

“Of course, we’ve had some fine speakers during the past six years”, said Elf. “The committee feels that, on the whole, they have made an invaluable contribution to the psychological well-being of the community.”

“I feel the same, Elif”, I said, nodding sagely. “Of course, it goes without saying that a healthy community won’t always have uniform feelings. In any given community, there’s always something of a split between the
Gemeinschaft
ers and the
Gesellschaft
ers.”

I had done my homework too. He paused for a few seconds. His expression was no less affable, but the eyes now looked at me with imperceptibly closer attention. He continued: “Yes, it can be a problem. Fortunately, in an intentional community such as ours, a truly global community,
Gesellschaft
is the overarching dynamic of social interaction. There aren’t any local neighborhoods.”

I nodded in affirmation even as I silently disagreed. You bet there are local neighborhoods on board, Elf. Very close-knit ones.

“The wonderful thing is,” he continued, “we’ll never exhaust the riches of the great minds we have with us. That’s why we’re asking our most successful speakers to recommend other scientists whom they feel would offer stimulating presentations. Would you be open to this?”

“To suggesting speakers’ names?”

“Yes. Anyone you think would interest a large audience. You see, there is a tendency to individual isolation during a lengthy journey like this. The more people experience each other in public encounters, the more they will feel they’re part of a
community
.”

Elf, I’m getting just a little tired of that word.

“Smart thinking”, I nodded. “We’re lucky we have staff who’re sensitive to those aspects of life. You know what scientists can be like.”

He chuckled understandingly.

Gazing at the ceiling of his office, I frowned as if in deep thought, as if I were going over a mental roster of champion speakers. He waited patiently.

“You know”, I said, “I think we need Xue Ao-li to give us a lecture on mathematical anomalies in particle acceleration.”

Elf nodded politely. “Yes, Dr. Xue would be good.”

“Then there’s Dr. Pagnol on species adaptation. And Dr. Teal on anti-matter.”

“I think they already spoke on those topics. It would be somewhat repetitious.”

“You’re right. Now, who else?” I murmured to myself. “Mmmm, who else?”

“There’s Dr. McKie. He hasn’t spoken yet.”

“He’d be great on astronomy”, I said.

Elf’s face continued to smile, but tightened just enough that I knew we were zeroing in on the radar beam.

“He’d be excellent”, Elf said with a slight adjustment of his sitting position.

“Would the committee invite him? Or would you like me to ask him personally? He can be a little rough around the edges. Not really a community buff.”

“That would be a help, I’m sure”, said Elf. His face slid quietly into an expression of qualified concern. “I admire Dr. McKie’s work very much—very much.” He paused, as if thinking over my suggestion. “I am a little puzzled by him.”

“Oh, in what way?”

“He doesn’t seem all that happy to be with us.”

I threw my head back and grinned knowingly. “That’s just Stron’s mannerism. He relishes his reputation as a grumpy old man.”

“One wonders if he would be grumpy before a podium.”

“I have no doubt he would be. But it’s part of his charm. I think the audience would love it.”

“Perhaps you’re right.”

“Have you met him?” I asked. “You’d enjoy him.”

“I haven’t met him face to face.” Elf shook his head with an interested smile, feigning enchantment by Stron’s reputation. “I hear he’s quite an eccentric.”

“He is indeed.”

“He has some wild theories, I hear.”

“As a scientist, there’s none better. Outside the field of astronomy, however, he can be opinionated. Full of quirks and quarks, so to speak. People sometimes think he’s a bit paranoid, imagines crazy things. It’s his act. It’s just his way of having fun. I don’t know what you’ve heard about him, but you shouldn’t take it too seriously.”

“Oh, I never would. We all have quirks and quarks.”

“Too true. It’s what makes for an interesting community.” I gave it three seconds and asked, “So, would you like me to invite him to be a speaker?”

“Let me run this by the committee first”, said Elf, furrowing his brow. “I have to follow protocol, and I expect there’ll be a number of names put forward.”

“Of course. Just give me a call if you need me. I’m at your disposal.”

He rose and offered his hand. I rose and accepted it. We smiled congenially at each other, and he conducted me to the door.

“Oh”, I said, as if recalling a half-remembered thought. “We need to confirm the date and venue of my talk?”

“Ah, yes, please forgive me.” He went back to his desk, bent over his
max
day-planner, pursed his lips, and said: “How about the first Monday of next month, 1900 hours, the main auditorium on Concourse A?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Then it’s definite.”

With that, we parted in a cloud of mutual friendliness, congratulating ourselves for having accomplished so much, so brilliantly, in so short a time.

I headed off to Stron’s room. He was at home, and once I was inside he demanded a blow-by-blow description of my meeting with Larson. First, I gave him a thumbnail sketch and summarized by saying: “It’s not exactly proof, but the timing does seem to indicate that they overheard our fake dialogue.”

“It does indeed”, Stron growled, as he poured me a finger of his latest brew.

“On the other hand, we shouldn’t jump to hasty conclusions”, I went on. “It’s entirely possible that we’re not quite on the mark about this.”

“We’re so on the mark, Neil-lad, that we split the shaft of the arrow that’s lodged dead center in the bull’s-eye.”

“Maybe it’s not as sinister as it appears. What they’re doing is unethical, of course, but they probably mean no harm.”

“Neil, listen to yourself. Unethical
is
harm.”

“But he made no direct accusations, didn’t even ask probing questions.”

“Worse and worse. I’ll bet he’s a Freudian-slip-pouncer—the most odious kind. He laid a honey trap for you, and you stepped right into it, which is to be expected.”

“I’ll admit I caught the faintest whiff of honey. But nothing that would make your feet stick to the floor.”

“Did he ever-so-casually bring up my name?”

“Yes, but that was well along in the conversation.”

“He’s good. He’s very good. Which means he’s dangerous.”

“Maybe so. However, in the interest of keeping perspective, let’s ask ourselves if all this amounts to anything. What does it matter if they suspect we’re onto their tricks? The fact is, they don’t know anything. And even if they did, what could they do about it? Clap us in irons and throw us into the brig?”

“Hardly. But they could make life damn uncomfortable—put the pressure on us, isolate us, demonize us in the eyes of other passengers. And worst of all, they could refuse us permission to land on the planet with the exploration teams. They might even ruin our reputations in the history books.”

“Mine’s already ruined. I’m a convicted criminal, actually. Didn’t you hear about that?”

“No! Tell me all about it.”

I did. And he laughed. Then we called it a day.

Day 2251
:

Last night I watched an old film called
The Wizard of Oz
—primitive fantasy, but it had a pretty girl with a nice voice, skipping along a yellow brick road.

This morning I awoke before dawn, soaked with sweat, overcome by a feeling of stark terror. This is strange, because I hardly ever remember my dreams, and haven’t suffered from a nightmare in decades.

In the dream, I was franticly scurrying about the
Kosmos
trying to convince people that we were all being listened to and watched by “them”. The accusation was denied by the authorities as paranoia. None of the passengers and crew believed me.

I was dragged by Elif Larson to an enforced session of psychological counseling. I was strapped to a chair and left alone with the psychiatrist. She was a very short woman wearing dark sunglasses and dressed in a skin-tight, one-piece, synthetic jumpsuit that was not flattering to her figure. She rocked back and forth on her office chair, scowling at me, saying nothing, taking long drags on her cigarette holder, from which protruded a burning filterless cigarette. The room was dense with the cloud of noxious tobacco smoke. Her face was wrinkled with extreme old age and deformed by a scar slashed across one eyebrow and the length of her cheek. Her hair was long, straight, and dyed blond. I felt totally frightened by her—not because of what she might do to me but by what she was.