Джек Макдевитт - Engines Of God

"What you're saying is that it would have made no difference."

Caseway's lips tightened. "None," he said. "Under the circumstances, I really have no choice but to proceed."

"I see."

"If it's any consolation, I take no pleasure in this. I understand the archeological value of Quraqua. And I have a reasonable idea what we stand to lose. But you have had twenty-eight years on that world—"

"That's a long time in a man's life. Mr. Caseway. But it is very short when we are trying to reconstruct the history of an entire world."

"Of course." He smiled at Richard's persistence in using the formal address. But he refused to take offense. "Nevertheless, there are pressing considerations. We are not entirely free to choose our time frames." He sipped his drink. "What a marvelous place Pinnacle must be. I wonder what they were like."

"We'll know eventually. We are already able to make reasonable assumptions. We know they believed in survival beyond the grave. We know they valued mountaintops and seacoasts. We know they succeeded in eliminating war. We even know something about their music. Fortunately, we don't have to worry about a private corporation seizing the world."

"I understand." Caseway looked genuinely regretful. "I envy you. I don't know anyone who has a more interesting line of work. And I would oblige you in a moment, if I could."

"It would be to everyone's benefit." He wished they were somewhere else, away from the glare. He would have preferred being able to see Caseway's eyes. He took his own glasses off to emphasize the gravity of the moment. "The last of the natives on Quraqua died off probably about the middle of the seventeenth century. They were all that was left, scattered in dying cities around their world, of a prosperous and vital web of civilizations that spanned their globe only three thousand years ago. We don't know what happened to them. They collapsed, over a short period of time. Nobody knows why. They were technologically backward, by our standards. Which should have helped them survive, because they were still close to their roots, and not vulnerable to the kinds of problems we've experienced."

"It wasn't all that sudden," Caseway said. "It happened over centuries."

"No." Richard took the initiative. "Those are assumptions, put out by people who think it had to happen that way, because some of these civilizations were not connected, and should not all have gone down at the same time. But it's as if someone turned off a light."

Caseway thought it over. "Epidemic."

"Maybe. Whatever it was, the old order went to its knees, and never recovered. Twenty-five hundred years later, the species became extinct."

"Well." Caseway crossed one knee over the other, and scratched an ankle. "Maybe it's the Toynbee factor. Their species exhausted itself."

"That's a non-explanation."

"Richard—" Caseway paused. "I would like to know what happened on Quraqua as much as anyone. But the deluge is upon us. We have no time left for academic niceties."

"What deluge?"

Caseway looked momentarily startled. "Tell me," he said, "what you see in the future for us? For mankind?"

"We've always blundered through. I'm optimistic."

"I fear I have the advantage of you: I've read your books, and you speak often of the future. Unusual in an archaeologist, I would think. No, no; no protest please. I'm less sanguine than you are. And perhaps more of a realist. We have virtually unlimited power now. And we have the experience of the convulsions of the last two centuries. What good has it done us? You and I live well. But people continue to starve in frightful numbers; much of the damage to the environment has proved remarkably intractable; population is approaching the levels that preceded the Collapse." He stared pensively into his wine. "We have eliminated active warfare, but only because the League has the weapons. The Poles still hate the Russians, the Arabs hate the Jews, the People of Christ hate everybody. It's as if we've learned nothing."

"And the only solution is your Utopia on Quraqua."

"Yes. We select a small group. Leave the old animosities behind. Start over. But start over, knowing what we know now. That way, we may have a future. Earth surely does not."

Richard shrugged. "It's an old idea, Norman. But even if I grant you the premise, why the big hurry? Why not take the time to see what we can team from Quraqua? Then terraform away."

"Because it may already be too late."

"Nonsense."

"Not at all. Listen: the first step, which will happen in a few weeks, is to melt the icecaps. From that moment, it will be a half-century, at best, before the first member of the pilot colony sets foot on Quraqua. Fifty years, Richard. Middle of the century. What do you suppose will be going on by then?"

"Who knows?"

"Who indeed? Will political conditions be stable? Will there be money? Will the technology still exist?" Caseway shook his head. "Our experts predict a second Collapse within thirty years. Time is very much against us. Even today, we will be fortunate to bring this off. To create and populate a new world. But if we don't, I suspect we'll end very much like your Quraquat."

"It's a scheme. Leave the old animosities behind. You can't do that unless you find a way to leave their human nature behind. And you're prepared to sacrifice a major source of knowledge to this aberration." Damn the man and his arrogant smile. "Granting your premise, there will be other worlds. Why not be patient? Why not wait for a world you won't have to terraform?"

"Can you guarantee the discovery of a reasonable habitat within the next half-century?"

"Guarantee? Of course not. But there's a good chance."

"Perhaps you wouldn't object if we settled on Inakademeri? And kicked the Noks off?"

Richard stood. "I'm sorry to find you so determined."

"And I to find you so obtuse. But you're right: I am determined. Determined to see that we get another chance. And you must understand, this may be the only window. Delay, back off to save your pots on Quraqua, and someone may find a better way to spend the money. Once that happens, the game is over."

"It is not a game." He banged the glass down, shattering it. Gingerly he released the broken stem and mumbled an apology.

Caseway laid his handkerchief on the spilled wine. "It's quite all right," he said. "You were saying—?"

Richard plunged ahead: "Norman, there is potentially explosive information at the Temple of the Winds."

Caseway nodded. "And what is the nature of this information?"

"We have evidence there was a contact between the Quraquat and the Monument-Makers."

His eyebrows rose. That had hit home. "What sort of evidence?"

Richard showed him a copy of the Tull bas-relief.

"It's hard to be sure," Caseway said. He pointed over Richard's shoulder and the desert vanished. They were seated in a modest wood-paneled room, bare save for the two chairs and the coffee table. "Not that it matters. There are always good reasons to delay." His eyes narrowed. "Money. Political considerations. The promise of better technology next year. Did you follow the debates over whether we have the moral right to destroy an extraterrestrial ecology? The Committee for Common Decency almost got us canceled because we are subverting God's plan for Quraqua. Whatever that might be." His brow creased. "I know what you're saying. I even agree with you, up to a point. I should tell you that if I had my choice, I would go to Nok, take it over, and leave the Temple to you."

Later, when Richard replayed the conversation, the final remark chilled him, because it came from a man he had begun to like.

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