Rollback

He went on. "And a second cousin only has one-thirty-second of your DNA. And a second cousin once removed has just one-sixty-fourth of your DNA. Well, when was the last time you heard of somebody volunteering a kidney to save a second cousin once removed? Not only do most people have no clue who their second cousins once removed are, but they also, quite bluntly, couldn’t give a crap what happens to them. They just don’t share enough DNA with them to care."

"I love it when you talk math," she teased. Fractions were about as good as Don’s math got.

"And over time," he said, "the DNA share gets cut down, like cheap coke." He grinned, delighted by his simile, although she knew full well that the only coke he had experience with came in silver-and-red cans. "You only have to go six generations to get to your own descendants being as distantly related to you as a second cousin once removed — and six generations is less than two centuries."

"I can name my second cousins once removed. There’s Helena, and Dillon, and—"

"But you’re special. That’s why you are interested in SETI. For the rest of the world, they just don’t have a vested Darwinian interest. Evolution has shaped us so that we don’t care about anything that’s not going to manifest soon, because no close relative of ours will be around then. Jill’s probably tap-dancing around that, because it’s a point she doesn’t want to make: that, for the general public, SETI doesn’t make sense. Hell, didn’t Frank" — whom he’d also never met — "send a signal somewhere thousands of light-years away?"

He looked at Sarah, and saw her nod. "The Arecibo message, sent in 1974. It was aimed at M13, a globular cluster."

"And how far away is M13?"

"Twenty-five thousand light-years," she said.

"So it’ll be fifty thousand years before we could get a reply. Who has the patience for something like that? Hell, I got an email today with a PDF attachment, and I thought, geez, I wonder if this thing is going to be worth reading, ’cause, you know, it’s going to take, like, ten whole seconds for the attachment to download and open.

We want instant gratification; we find any delay intolerable. How can SETI fit into a world with that mind-set? Send a message and wait decades or centuries for a reply?" He shook his head. "Who the hell would want to play that game? Who’s got the time for it?"

Chapter 5

As the luxury jet landed, Don Halifax mentally checked off that to-do-list item. The few remaining ones, including "sleep with a supermodel" and "meet the Dalai Lama," seemed out of the question at this point, not to mention of no current interest.

It was bitterly cold going down the little metal staircase onto the tarmac. The flight attendant helped Don every step of the way, while the pilot helped Sarah. Downside of a private plane: it didn’t use a Jetway. Like so many of the things on Don’s list, this one was turning out to be less wonderful than he’d hoped.

A white limo was waiting for them. The robot driver wore one of those caps that limo drivers are supposed to wear, but nothing else. It did an expert job of getting them to McGavin Robotics, all the while providing a running commentary, in a voice loud enough for them to hear clearly, on the sights and history of the area.

The McGavin Robotics corporate campus consisted of seven sprawling buildings separated by wide snow-covered expanses; the company had lots of ties to the artificial-intelligence lab at nearby MIT. The limo was able to go straight into an underground garage, so Don and Sarah didn’t have to brave the cold again. The robot driver escorted them as they walked slowly over to an immaculate elevator, which brought them up to the lobby. Human beings took over there, taking their coats, making them welcome, and bringing them up another elevator to the fourth floor of the main building.

Cody McGavin’s office was long and narrow, covering one whole side of the building, with windows looking out over the rest of the campus. His desk was made of polished granite, and a matching conference table with a fleet of fancy chairs docked at it was off to the left, while a long, well-stocked bar, with a robot bartender, stretched off in the other direction.

"Sarah Halifax!" said McGavin, rising from his high-backed leather chair.

"Hello, sir," said Sarah.

McGavin quickly closed the distance between them. "This is an honor," he said. "A real honor." He was wearing what Don supposed was the current fashion for executives: a lapelless dark-green sports jacket and a lighter green shirt with a vertical splash of color down the front taking the place of a tie. No one wore ties anymore.

"And this must be your husband," said McGavin.

"Don Halifax," said Don. He offered his hand — something he disliked doing these days. Too many younger people squeezed too hard, causing him real pain. But McGavin’s grip was gentle, and released after only a moment.