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We are an unregulated cancer, proclaimed many eco-radicals. Man must cut his numbers and standard of living by a factor of ten, or even a hundred, to save the world.
Some even suggested it would be better if the destroyer species — Homo sapiens — died out altogether, and good riddance.
Those pursuing the “organic” metaphor suggested the problem would be solved once humanity adjusted to its proper role as “brain” of the planetary organism. We can learn to regulate ourselves, pronounced the moderators of the North American Church of Gaia, as they pushed “soft” technologies and birth control. We must learn to be smart planetary managers.
There were still other opinions.
Everything would be fine on Earth if humans just left! That was the message of the space colonization movement, as they promoted plans for cities and factories in the sky. Out in space, resources are endless. We’ll move out and turn the little blue planet into a park!
To Madrid Catholics and some other old-line religious groups, The world was made for our use. The end of days will come soon. So why “regulate,” when it’s all temporary anyway? One unborn human fetus is worth all the whales in the sea.
A group based in California offered a unique proposal. “Sheckleyans” they called themselves, and they agitated — tongue in cheek, Jen imagined — for the genetic engineering of new predators smart and agile enough to prey on human beings. These new hunters would cull the population in a “natural” ma
These were just some of the suggestions, both serious and whimsical. But Jen realized the young man deserved more than stock answers. She put his letter on the high-priority heap — the pile of items she would go over carefully later, in the hours before bed.
One letter to go then. The last one had arrived on auto-accept, so the sender knew her private code. Jen sca
That’s all I need.
But then she suddenly remembered. Vacation homes…
It was a mnemonic cue. “Sri Ramanujan,” she said aloud. “I think this message may be in cipher. Please see if we own a key to break it.”
The face of the young Hindustani appeared briefly.
“Yes, Jen Wolling. It uses a private code given you years ago by the Pacific Society of Hine-marama. I’ll have it translated in a minute.”
Ah, Jen thought. This had to be from the New Zealand priestess, Meriana Kapur. It was ages since she’d seen the Maori woman, whose cult took the Gaia concept rather literally. But then, so had Jen during one phase.
“Here it is, Professor.”
Ramanujan vanished again, leaving a totally transformed message in his place.
A totally i
But then, gradually, she smiled. Of course. This isn’t senility, it’s diamond blade sharpness! There are ciphers within ciphers. Codes within codes.
Apparently, Auntie Kapur wanted to be sure only Jen understood this message. Certainly no busybody hacker’s automatic snooping program would sort meaning out of this, not without the shared context of two women who had lived a very long time.
Vagueness can be an art in itself.
Jen’s smile faded when it began dawning on her how seriously the Maori priestess took this. The precautions began to make sense as glimmerings of meaning penetrated.
“… I’m afraid Mama’s unexpected ulcer has only one possible cure. Repairing the hole requires drastic measures… but the regular doctors would only interfere if they knew. (We think they originally caused the problem.)…”
There were more passages like that. Hints and allusions. Was Meriana saying the world itself was in danger? A danger worse than the big power nuclear standoff of long ago?
A passing reference was missed until her third reading. Then Jen realized Kapur was referring to her grandson.
Alex? But what could he be involved in that could pose such a threat to…
Jen gasped. Oh, that bloody boy. This time he must really have done it!
Nobody with any sense kept confidential notes on a computer. So from a desk drawer she took out an expensive pad of real paper and a pencil. Carefully this time, Jen went through her friend’s letter line by line, jotting references and probable meanings. It wasn’t any form of code-breaking a machine could perform, more like the ancient Freudian art of analyzing free associations, a sleuthing through the subjective world of impressions and wild guesses. A very human sort of puzzle, thousands of years older than the discrete patternings of cybernetics.
Exactly what is it they want of me? Jen wondered what she, an old woman, could do to help Auntie and Alex in a situation as dire as this. Finally, though, it became clear. Africa. Ndebele Canton… Meriana heard of my visit there. She thinks I can help get them in. Secretly.
Jen sat back, amazed. Secretly? These days?
The idea was absurd.
She chewed her lip.
Well… it would be a challenge, at least.
By Pauling and Orgell… I’ll bet I can do it.
One thing for certain, Auntie’s letter demanded an immediate response. No waiting till Friday for this one.
And that lad in Kuwenezi — Nelson Grayson. It looked as if the young man with the pet baboons might be getting his answers in person after all.
□ Net Vol. A 8230-761, 04.01.38: 11:24:12 UT; User M12-44-6557-Bac990 STATISTICAL REQUEST [Level: generic/colloquial]
Earth Land Surface Area (In millions of square kilometers) 1988 | 2038
Total: 149 | 142
In desert, mountain, tundra: 101 | 111
In arable land: 40 | 29
In cultivated land: 13 | 11
In fish farms: 0.002 | 0.12
Census Counts (in billions of individuals) 1988 | 2038
Human beings: 5.2 | 10.6
Domestic cattle: 1.2 | 0.2
Domestic sheep: 1.0 | 0.5
Domestic hogs: 0.5 | 0.5
Domestic dogs and cats: 0.4 | 0.02