Laurence tried to hear the ghost of Patricia that he had been keeping in his head since they’d been separated. What would Patricia be saying if she were here? He couldn’t imagine. She didn’t even believe ethics were derived from universal principles, like the greatest good for the greatest number. She seemed farther away than ever, as though he’d already gone to a different planet than her. But then it hit him: They were talking about maybe condemning Patricia to death, along with billions of others, on the assumption that they were all doomed anyway. He couldn’t even picture himself starting to unspool that for Patricia.
Laurence opened his mouth to say that of course they should pull the plug, this was insane. But at that moment he caught sight of Isobel, who had stopped rocking in her chair and now looked just immobilized. Isobel’s eyes were furrowed and she was inhaling through her nose with her lips pulled inward, and you could almost believe she was about to bust out laughing. Her dishwater bob was getting shaggy and her white wrists were like saplings. Isobel looked so breakable. Laurence felt a stabbing cardiothoracic pain, like a more grinding version of a panic attack, at the thought of hurting Isobel.
Then he flipped the question around in his head: He tried to imagine how he’d feel if humanity really did run out of hope in a year or ten and they didn’t have this radical option to offer. How would he explain that to some hypothetical person, in this apocalyptic panic? We might have had a solution, but we were too scared to pursue it.
“We can’t give up now,” Laurence heard himself say. “What I mean is, we can carry on with the research, for now, in the hopes that we’ll find a way to make it totally safe. And we can all agree we won’t even test the machine unless things look really, really bad. But if it comes down to a choice between the whole human race dying out in some nuclear holocaust or total environmental collapse, and a few hundred thousand people making it to a new planet, that’s no choice at all, right?”
Milton was nodding with his arms folded. Isobel snapped back to life with a gasp, as though he’d done CPR on her just in time.
Laurence expected someone else to jump in and argue with him, but everybody was hanging on his words for some weird reason. So Laurence said, “As long as humanity survives, the best part of planet Earth will have endured. I mean, you wouldn’t do anything without a backup plan, right? So this is just our backup plan, in case Plan A fails.”
They’d been meeting a few hours, and people were starting to come together behind the notion of developing the wormhole generator as an absolute last resort. Especially since the alternative was just packing up and going home, and waiting for the worst to happen.
At last, Milton spoke up again. “Thank you, all of you, for sharing your perspectives. This is not going to be an easy decision to make, and we’re not going to finish making it today. For now, though, I hope we can all agree to keep moving forward. With safeguards in place, as Anya suggested, to keep the device from being activated without overwhelming likelihood of a true doomsday occurrence. But I will say this: I believe it’s coming. The only question in my mind is the timescale. It could be six months or sixty years, but at some point, if things keep going along these vectors, we will be in a place where we are poised to end ourselves. We can only hope there will be enough warning before it happens to allow us to get some people out.”
The exact nature of the safeguards was left vague.
Everybody left the server room reeling with tension headaches and moral torment. Tanaa and Jerome rushed off to the storage closet, the only place with privacy in the entire compound, for some emergency nookie. For everybody else, there was a pleasant surprise: Someone had delivered two dozen pizzas while they’d been debating the fate of the world. Nobody had eaten pizza in months, since they got to Denver. Laurence grabbed three wide slices, folding the first slice lengthwise and stuffing it in his mouth.
The sun had gone down, and the one tree on the front lawn of the industrial park campus was making an evil silhouette against the outsized moon. Laurence ended up changing seats so he could eat pizza with his back to the big window, but he could still feel the world breathing down his neck. He looked over at Isobel, and she nodded at him, with one eye half-shut in a kind of minimalist smile.
26
WEEDS PUSHED OUT of all the cracks in the walls, the moment Ernesto broke the magical seals on the entrance to Danger and took his first steps out onto the landing. Patricia and Kawashima had spent hours disinfecting and defoliating the landing and stairs, and their efforts didn’t seem to have made any difference. Fungus blossomed and spread until the floor was squishy and the ceiling sagged with the added weight. Ernesto smiled, unsteady, and grew a beard of green. The seeds and spores on his hands sprouted, and greenery came out of every seam or opening on his embroidered suede vest, clean white shirt, and gray flannel pants. His white-streaked hair turned dark. Stems and leaves obscured his face.