Gregory Benford - Timescape

“Well done, John,” Jan said. “Stand on your rights. Now, if I might have that drink—” She moved towards him, smiling. The rigid circle broke, tension dissipating. He took her elbow and they crossed to the sideboard. Peterson went to talk to Marjorie. Greg sat down on the sofa next to Cathy Wickham.

“Well, I think I took a fall in that round,” she said cheerfully. “But it was worth it for a minute or two there.”

“Did he actually proposition you?” Greg asked. “I was right there and never noticed a thing.” Jan joined them, perching on the edge of the sofa.

“You kidding?” Cathy laughed. “Of course he did.”

“Familiarity breeds attempt, or something. But to come right out and—”

“Oh, he was very subtle and discreet about it. Left room for a gracious refusal, save his ego and all. Self-satisfied bastard. But Jan disapproves of my actions, don’t you, Jan?”

“Well, yes. I think you made things too uncomfortable for John and Marjorie. Frankly, I have the same opinion of him that you do, but…”

“This is fascinating,” Greg said. “Let’s hear you two get your claws into the poor guy.”

“Poor guy? He’s a highly successful, confident, slimy toad who despises women. You going to take his side as a man against two catty females?”

“He despises women?” Greg asked, startled. “I would have thought the opposite was true.” Jan and Cathy exchanged glances.

“He loathes us, every one. And he can’t stand rejection by an inferior being. Why do you think he implied I was gay?”

“Are you?”

She shrugged. “I’m bi, actually. But, yeah, I tend to prefer women. Don’t look now, put old Ian is putting the make on our dear hostess. She’s blushing like crazy.” Markham twisted in his seat and stared across the room, curious.

“Christ, I can’t imagine that. She doesn’t strike me as sexy at all. Besides, she’d probably talk all the time.”

“Now who’s being catty? At least she’s obviously heterosexual—that’s all Peterson needs to soothe his wounded ego. It’ll be Jan’s turn next.”

Jan raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come now. With Greg right here in the room? Anyway, he must know that I don’t particularly care for him.”

“You think either of those facts would bother him? Go talk to him—I’ll bet it won’t take five minutes before he makes a pass at you. Then you can cut him down to size.”

Jan shook her head. “I’d rather avoid the experience.”

“God, that’s too much,” Greg said. “I can’t believe he’s that bad.”

Cathy made a face at him. “Well, bugger you. I’m going to talk to John about his experiment.” She got up and left them.

“Well?” Greg asked.

“Well, what?”

“Don’t you think she’s overdoing it on Peterson? Do you think he really made a pass at her?”

“I’m quite sure he did. But I think what bothers her is being pulled away from her own work by someone who won’t treat her like a scientist. And it can’t be pleasant knowing one’s personal papers have been gone through.”

“Oh, the hell with it. Peterson seems quite reasonable to me, compared to the rest of the company. Renfrew’s dull outside of the lab, Marjorie’s a nit, and Cathy’s abrasive. Jesus. There’s only thee and me that’s normal.”

“And even thee’s a bit queer,” she supplied wryly. “I thought you were feeling good about the experiment. Why is everyone in such a terrible mood?”

“You’re right—we’re all edgy, aren’t we? It’s not the experiment. Personally, I’m not looking forward to flying to Washington.”

“You’re what?”

“Oh, God, of course—I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet. Here, let me get you another drink and I’ll explain.”

“But we’re planning—”

“I know, but this will only take a few days, and…”

The other guests studiously avoided the sofa while Jan and Greg settled their family logistics. Then the Markhams sat for a while listening to the flow of English conversation around them, the long a’s, the rising inflections.

Cathy had wandered out to the patio, announcing that the rain had passed, unnoticed in the tension of the living room. A stretched, artificial good humor seemed to tighten the throats of Peterson and Renfrew as they talked. Their words became clipped and slightly higher in tone. Marjorie’s rushed sentences wove between theirs in a kind of birdlike counterpoint. Peterson was describing the immense paperwork boondoggle surrounding the saving of the Sumatran and Javan species of rhinoceros. The World Council had decided to redirect money for the Javan die-back into isolating the rhino. Ecoinventory had dictated that as part of the stabilization plan, aimed at saving species. The one species in excess was, of course, humans. The Council’s policies had been applauded by the environmental types, politely not mentioning that in the zero-sum game of resources, this meant less available land and money for people. “Matter of choices,” Peterson said distantly, swirling the amber fluid in his glass. Wise nods.

Greg Markham said to Marjorie Renfrew, “No, no, forget that scene between Cathy and Ian. Means nothing. We’re all edgy lately.”

They were standing on the patio, at the edge of the orange glow from inside.

“But scientists are less emotional, I thought, and to have them at each other…”

“First, Peterson’s not a scientist. Second, all that about suppressing emotion is mostly a convenient legend. When Newton and Hooke were having their famous dispute over who discovered the inverse square law, I’m sure they were livid with rage. But it took two weeks to get a letter back and forth. Newton had time to consider his reply. Kept the discussion on a high plane, y’see. These days, if a scientist writes a letter, he publishes the damn thing. The interaction time is very low and the tempers flare higher. Still…”

“You don’t think that explains the irritability of the times?” Marjorie observed shrewdly.

“No, there’s something more, a feeling…” Greg shook his head. “Oh rat’sass, I should stick to physics. Even there, of course, we don’t really know much that’s basic.”

“Really? Why?”

“Well, take the bare fact that all electrons have the same mass and charge. So do their antiparticles, the positrons. Why? You can talk about fields and vacuum fluctuations and so on, but I like the old Wheeler idea—they have the same mass because they’re all the same particle.”

Marjorie smiled. “How can that be?”

“There’s only one electron in the universe, see. An electron traveling backwards in time looks like its antiparticle, the positron. So you bounce one electron back and forth through time. Make everything out of that one particle—dogs and dinosaurs, stones and stars.”

“But why would it travel back in time?”

“Tachyon collision? I don’t know.” Greg’s levity evaporated. “My point is, the foundation of everything is shaky. Even logic itself has holes in it. Theories are based on pictures of the world—human pictures.” He looked upward and Marjorie’s eyes followed. Constellations hung like blazing chandeliers. A distant airplane droned. A green light winked at its tail. “I rather like the old, certain things,” she began shyly.

“So we can have archaic and eat it, too?” Greg asked impishly. “Nonsense! We have to go on. Let’s get back inside.”

Markham went to the window and gazed up at the clearing skies. “Makes you wonder what sort of clouds dropped this water, doesn’t it?” he mused, half to himself. His head turned, looking idly around the yard, and suddenly stopped. “Say, who’re they?”