It is time to rearrange priorities. We should begin by recalling the superluminals, which contribute nothing toward creating a better life for the planet’s inhabitants. Let’s put the exploration effort aside for the present. Let’s concentrate on solving our problems at home before we go wandering off to other worlds whose existence have no impact on anyone other than a few academics.
— Venice Times, lead editorial, Monday, February 16
chapter 4
We’re a population of dunces. Consider the level of entertainment available to the home. The single most valuable skill in showbiz seems to be the ability to fall, with panache, on one’s face.
— Gregory MacAllister, Life and Times
“I believe him.”
MacAllister stared down out of the taxi at the network of bridges and islands that was modern Tampa. “No question in your mind, Wolfie?”
“Well, you know how it is, Mac. I wouldn’t bet the house, but yeah, I’d have a hard time believing it didn’t happen exactly the way he said it did.”
Below him, the city was a complex network of canals. Beautiful from the air. A prime example of the human capability to make art out of bad news. But the oceans were still rising, and they’d have to redesign the place yet again when the ice cap went into the water or the next big hurricane came along.
Homo imbecilus.
“So are we going to do the story?”
“Hell, Wolfie, what’s the story? What do we have to say? That somebody’s out there riding around in black ships?”
“That’s what it’s beginning to look like.”
“Wolfie, you have any idea how that sounds?”
“Yeah, I do. Doesn’t mean there isn’t something to it.”
“It’s bogus. You have a combination of slick corporate types who want the government to put more money into space, and a general population that will believe anything. But go ahead. Run with it. See what you can come up with.”