A friend of Hunt's named Rita, who was widowed, attractive, sophisticated, and, remarkably, unattached, ran a Turkish-cuisine restaurant that he visited from time to time in Silver Spring. A couple of months previously, she had prevailed upon him to escort her to a wedding she had been invited to of an old friend from college days. It had all gone very pleasantly, and he in turn enlisted her as his dinner companion for Owen's retirement dinner at the Carnarvon. She appeared promptly when he collected her shortly after six o'clock, tall and shapely, her honey-blond hair worn high, and wearing a white stole over a sparkling orange gown, high-necked and sleeveless, Oriental style. "Susie Wong tonight, are we?" Hunt quipped as she took his arm to walk to the airmobile that he had arrived in—rented.
"It goes with the tuxedo image of this James Bondish–looking Englishman. Are you packing a gun, too?"
"I knew I'd forgotten something." Hunt saw her in to the passenger seat, closed the door, and walked around to the driver's side.
"Is it going to be stuffy and horribly technical with all those scientists and UNSA people?" Rita asked as he climbed in.
Hunt okayed the destination for the flight computer and started the turbine, taking an unnaturally long time to reply. The announcement he was due to make was going to be public knowledge soon enough anyway, he started to tell himself. But on the other hand, there was such a thing as professional decorum. He would be left in an awkward situation if he started going into it now, and Owen had second thoughts. "Oh, I think you'll find it interesting enough," was all he said finally.
They were among the early arrivals at the reception, but the room filled quickly. Caldwell arrived with his wife, Maeve, and had also brought Mitzi, his secretary, and her husband. Danchekker showed up on his own, looking about as at home in black-tie attire as an ostrich in ballet tights. Hunt and Rita did the requisite social round, swapping shop and small talk, meeting the two visitors from Geneva, and paying their respects to Owen. Rita carried it all through with poise, fitting in easily and naturally in a way that warmed everyone they talked to. Hunt found himself wondering, not for the first time, if he should be thinking seriously about settling into a more conventional role and finding himself a permanent companion in life. By all the criteria that were supposed to matter, he wouldn't do any better than this person clinging to his arm and captivating his colleagues right now—even Danchekker. And yet . . . He couldn't put a finger on just what it was that didn't feel right. Deciding there was an empty slot in life and looking around for someone to fill it didn't seem to be the way. The right person would make their own slot. Or was it that for someone of his restless, loner disposition, compulsively changing his life whenever it threatened to close in by becoming too secure and predictable, there couldn't be a "right" person?
They were seated at the table presided over by Caldwell, which also included Danchekker, Owen, and the two Europeans. The conversation came around to what Owen planned to do with his time now. Owen said he was going to write an autobiography, giving his account of the extraordinary events that UNSA had been involved in during his time of office. Caldwell agreed that an insider's story was needed. Did Owen know that Danchekker had a cousin who wrote books? No, Owen didn't. Caldwell looked across at Danchekker. "In fact, isn't she visiting here right now, Chris?"
"Doing research for a book on the Thuriens," Mitzi put in.
"It must be very fortunate for her to have an authority on the subject as her cousin," Maeve commented.
Danchekker looked flattered but sighed regretfully. "It appears, however, that our professional association is to be short lived," he informed the table. "Cousin Mildred is a woman of considerable resourcefulness. She has contrived to avail herself of a far more comprehensive repository of materials than anything I could hope to provide: Thurien itself, no less."
"You mean via a virtual travel hookup?" Owen said. Much of the Thuriens' business among worlds was effected by bringing information from the destination to the "travelers," rather than the other way around. Sensor data derived from the source was imparted into their neural systems in a way that made the experience indistinguishable from actually being at the remote location. Neurocouplers connecting into he Thurien system had been installed at several locations on Earth, including Goddard.
Danchekker shook his head as he took a spoonful of soup. "No, she's actually going."
"Really? To Thurien?" Rita exclaimed. "What an experience!"
"One of their vessels is leaving here to return, somewhere around a week from now, I understand," Danchekker confirmed. "She has a reservation on it."
"It's unbelievable," Leonard, one of the Europeans, said, taking in the table in general. "There isn't anything like having to pay a fare. You just ask them. If there's room, they'll take you."
"So we won't be seeing very much of Mildred after all, Professor," Maeve concluded.
"Tragically so, I fear." Danchekker returned a solemn nod. Hunt saw Caldwell look at him keenly for a second or two, as if about to take the subject further; but then he caught Hunt's eye and turned to say something to Sarah, the other European, instead.
Hunt looked across at Owen, cocking his head in a way that singled him out from the general talk. "Are you still happy for me to talk about it, Owen?" he asked. "It's still not too late to change if you've had second thoughts. We can make the news an official release tomorrow. It's your call."
"Well, yes I have thought some more about it," Owen replied. For a moment Hunt thought that he had changed his mind. But Owen went on, "What I'd like to do is make the broad announcement myself, in my acknowledgment speech. Then I can hand over to you to fill in the details. What do you think?"
"Even better," Hunt said. "This is your show. Go over with a bang, eh?"
"What's this?" Rita asked. She kept her voice low, picking up their tenor. "Are we in for some news tonight?"
"You'll see," Hunt answered. "I said you'd find it interesting." Rita raised her eyebrows and smiled resignedly in a way that said she could wait.
But Caldwell, who rarely missed anything, waved a hand for him to carry on. "It's okay, Vic," he said. "We're only talking about a few minutes from now. And it'll be public before tonight's out, anyway." Hunt looked inquiringly toward Owen. Owen shrugged, indicating that it was fine by him. Hunt looked back at Rita.
"I got an unusual phone call the other day," he told her.
"Oh?"
"Do you know much about quantum physics and alternate Multiverse realities?"
Rita regarded him reproachfully. "I thought you said it wouldn't get technical."
"Trust me. This will be worth it."
"Something about all possible universes. . . . We only live in a tiny part of what's going on. Everything that could happen is happening somewhere."
"That puts it pretty well. And they contain other possible versions of ourselves. According to traditional theory, apart from interference at the microscopic level, information doesn't flow between them. They can't communicate. We thought. . . . And then, when Broghuilio and his last hangers-on took off from Jevlen, their ships were somehow kicked back to a version of early Minerva." Rita would know about that, of course. At the time, it had been dissected in the news for weeks. Imares Broghuilio had been the leader of the attempted Jevlenese coup.
"So what are you . . ." Rita broke off as what he was implying sank in. Her eyes widened. The other talk around the table died as one by one the rest of the company tuned in. Rita was now speaking for all of them. "You're not saying this call was from some other . . . reality, universe . . . whatever?"
Hunt nodded, deadly serious now. "Precisely that."
Rita tried to absorb it, smiled incredulously, shook her head. "On the phone? A regular call on the phone? Surely that's crazy. . . ." But at the same time her expression said she wasn't sure why.
"What better way to communicate?" Hunt replied, looking around now to address the whole company. "We think it came via a relay device that was projected into Earth orbit somehow—like the satellites that connect into the Thurien h-net."
Those present who hadn't known about it already returned disbelieving looks, almost as if expecting this to be a joke. Leonard waited for a moment to avoid sounding provocatively skeptical, then said, "How can you be sure it was from another reality, Doctor? Can you positively rule out the possibility that it was a hoax?"
Which was what Hunt had been expecting. "Oh, absolutely," he assured them. "The caller couldn't have fooled me. I know him too well." He glanced around to emphasize the point. "You see, it was me. The person I talked with was another version of myself."
And over the rest of the meal, the whole astonishing story came out. The conclusion that the call had originated from some alternative future brought up the question of time-travel contradictions, which Sarah confessed to having been unclear about ever since the business with the Jevlenese. Going back to the past changed it, she maintained, and that didn't make sense.
"Not with the old notion of a single reality and one time line," Hunt agreed. "But going back to an earlier point on a different time line avoids the contradictions. It could be arbitrarily close to the one that you came from, but nevertheless not the same one."
Owen came in. "You couldn't change your own, exact past—where no one from the future had ever shown up to bring about any changes. That's true."
"But you're changing the other one just as much," Sarah objected. Owen looked at Hunt.
"The Multiverse totality itself is timeless," Hunt said. "Nothing in it ever really changes anyway. "
"So what's this change that we all see? Where does it come from?" Leonard asked.
"Now you're getting into philosophers' and theologians' territory," Hunt answered. "I just deal in what the physics says."
"Some kind of construct of consciousness," Caldwell offered. "Consciousness navigates its way through the totality somehow." He shrugged. "Maybe that's what consciousness is."
This aspect of it all intrigued Danchekker. His first reaction was usually to reject anything radical, but Hunt had been through this with him several times by now. It seemed that Chris had been doing some more thinking. "The ramifications are profound," he told Caldwell. "Perhaps one of the most significant developments in the history of science yet. The bringing together of physical and biological science at the quantum level. Generalizing 'consciousness' to mean any form of self-instigated behavior modification gives us a whole new way of looking at living systems."
"You sound as if you want to get more involved in it, Chris," Caldwell commented. His steely gray eyes had an odd twinkle.
"Well, absolutely," Danchekker agreed. "Who in my position wouldn't? I mean—" The clacking of the MC's gavel from the podium above the head table interrupted.
The clattering of dessert cutlery had died away by now, and the waiters were serving coffee, port wines, and liqueurs. The MC looked around while the last murmurs of conversation faded. "Thank you all, ladies and gentlemen. Now that everyone is wined, contented, and fed, it's my pleasure to bring us to the prime business of the evening. . . ."
A buildup followed, outlining Owen's career and achievements. Several speakers followed, relating their personal anecdotes, and Hunt went up last to deliver the keynote address. It went over well. The MC called Owen up from the floor to respond, and at the end the room rose to give him an ovation. But then Owen remained at the podium. Puzzled looks traveled this way and that around the room. Even the MC seemed thrown off balance.
"And now I have something further to tell you all," Owen said. "Something that will set tonight aside as a truly memorable occasion in all our lives. Several days ago, an event took place just a few miles from where we are sitting now, which I believe could signal one of the most startling developments in the entire history of our species, with incalculable implications for the future. It's fitting that I should be saying this as my last official duty on behalf of UNSA. For the era of discovery that I represented is over. A new one is about to begin. . . ."
By the time Hunt got up again to complete the story, the thunder for the evening had truly been exercised where it belonged. All fears of stealing Owen's show were forgotten. The room was all but stunned into silence and immobility, except for one or two figures making inconspicuously for the exits, who Hunt guessed to be media people hurrying to send off their stories. Some questions followed, generally following the line already heard at Caldwell's table, but not a great many—no doubt because most of the listeners would need time to fully grasp what they had heard. Hunt thought it just as well. This was a celebration dinner, not a technical conference.
But it seemed to have achieved its aim. Owen expressed satisfaction that the occasion had been immortalized. People were staying at their tables and talking in intense, animated groups instead of breaking up and starting to leave in the way that would have been typical. "That would be a tough one to follow," Rita said as Hunt came back over and sat down after exchanging contact details with a number of people wanting to know more who had stopped him on the way.
Caldwell waited until he had Danchekker's attention and looked at him fixedly for a moment as he sipped from his glass. "And now that it's all official, I have some more news—for you, Chris," he said.
"Me?" Danchekker frowned quizzically. "What kind of news?"
"I've been talking to Calazar about Vic's matrix propagation ideas." Calazar headed the planetary administration on Thurien. "He agrees that their scientists and our scientists need to get together on this. And before the speeches, you'd just started telling us about how bioscience and physics are all implicated together. So we've arranged for you and Vic to transfer to Thurien with a small team and work with them."
"Vic and me? To Thurien? . . . When?"
"A week from now—on the ship that you mentioned. It's called the Ishtar. Some Thuriens who have been visiting places in Asia are going home in it."
Maeve looked delighted. "Why, that's wonderful, Professor!" she exclaimed. "The same ship that your cousin will be going on. So you won't have to lose contact with her after all."
"That's what I was thinking, too," Caldwell said. "I've no doubt she can take care of herself, but an alien culture at another star needs a lot of adjusting to. I've had a taste of it myself. Even if she did make her own arrangements independently, we are still Earth's official space agency, and I feel we have a responsibility. So I'd like you to keep an eye on her, on UNSA's behalf, Chris, if you would." Danchekker appeared to have frozen. He sat, holding a grape that he had taken from a dish on the table suspended halfway to his mouth. Caldwell's brow furrowed. "Okay, Chris?"
"I'd be happy to, of course," Danchekker managed finally in a flat voice.
The sides of Danchekker's mouth moved upward mechanically to bare his teeth, but the rest of him remained immobile. Only then did Hunt see the look of horror in the eyes behind the gold-rimmed spectacles. Then the pieces of what must have happened fell suddenly into place. Hunt grabbed his napkin from the table and clasped it to his mouth with a spluttering sound which he disguised as a cough. Rita, to one side, saw the expression that he was struggling to conceal.
"What is it?" she hissed in his ear. "What's so funny?"
"I'll tell you later," Hunt muttered, brushing away a tear.