Snake Oil - Waiting For The Galactic Bus - Snake Oil - Waiting for the Galactic Bus Part 49
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Snake Oil - Waiting for the Galactic Bus Part 49

"You were wrong because the whole theory is wrong."

"Really?" Sorlij smiled at Coyul like a spider about to lunch. "Well find a different set of errors for you. Something simpler."

"Don't bother. These will do." Coyul flexed his fingers like a pianist warming up. On each hand the five fingers divided in two. Twenty slender digits stabbed at the keyboard in a swift toccata of statement, foresting the screen with symbols. "Stated. And here - "

The screen wiped to one subformula in the amino-protein group from which Coyul generated a whole family tree of results.

"You've only restated the error," Maj said.

"No. Science is only exact when experimentation proves it so. We should begin by assuming we're wrong. Unfortunately, we have certain failings in common with humans."

Prominent among which, Coyul noted, was not liking to be wrong even in regard to a remote study like carbon-cycle life in which none of their own electron-cycle kind had much prolonged empirical experience. Formal academics had generated plausible theory which worked in enough cases to be complacently accepted as law.

"What you call error is the actual propensity of protein enzyme acting as catalyst in evolving the anthropoid cortex - as you can see at a far greater rate than theory conceived. What theory fails to take into account is protein variation in a creature whose survival lies in its intelligence and ability to adapt. Barion was as hidebound as the rest of you in this."

"That's an assumption, not a factor," Sorlij challenged. "Show me the numbers."

"The precise variable," Maj specified. "What accelerated the protein?"

"Excuse me, I did forget." Rapidly, Coyul stated the oxygen components in the accepted theory. Underneath, the actual, richer oxygen content of Earth's Pliocene atmosphere and its more rapid effect on protein enzyme action, neatly stated in percentage. "There we are, children: how Daddy did the guilty work of the Sixth Day. Accept no substitutes."

A silent but sufficing bombshell. Staring at the formulae, Barion tried to find some point for refutation and saw none. Out of their own field, Sorlij and Maj could still see the obvious on the screen. These figures made Cultural Threshold at 900 cc not only possible but predictable.

Maj spoke first. "Would it be tedious to ask why, Coyul?"

"There was nothing else to pass the time." His silly titter nailed the lid on Coyul. "It amused me."

"But he didn't," Barion sputtered. "His figures are right, I admit, but I did it. I can recreate my process step by step."

Sorlij just shook his head. "Barion, please. We admire your loyalty, but ..."

Shielded from them, Barion's mind leaped at Coyul's -

YOU IDIOT, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU KNOW I DID IT.

NO, Coyul thought back with a ripple of humor, WE DID IT.

HARDLY WORTH MENTIONING AT THE TIME, LIKE ONE BUTTON LEFT UNDONE. I JUST DID YOU UP. WE WERE YOUNG THEN. LIKE THE YOUNG ANYWHERE, YOU ADORED DABBLING WITH THE RADICAL, BUT INEVITABLY WENT HOME TO DINNER WITH THE ORTHODOX. CHECK MY FIGURES. Q.E.D.

Barion raged: MARGINAL VARIATION. THEY WOULDN'T MAKE THAT MUCH DIFFERENCE.

BUT THEY DID. AND WHEN IT COMES TO ANTHROS, THESE TURKEYS DON'T KNOW ENOUGH BEYOND BASICS TO ARGUE THE POINT.

Apparently they did not. "Coyul, you'll have to leave the ship now. Maj, prepare for energy phase."

"It's still a good question," Barion pressed, no longer caring if the others heard him. "Why?"

"You'll do time as an accessory, of course, but wherever they put you, brother, you'll go on doing what you do."

"And what about you?" Barion urged, concerned. "You can't run Topside like a demented B movie. What will you do?"

"What Sorlij ordered," Coyul said simply. "Make them grow up. Always wanted to. Now I've got to, haven't I?"

In truth, Coyul's motives were not entirely fraternal. Five million years had left a considerable human residue in his personality. He thought in human languages, spent more time than not in their form, understood them better by now than his own arid kind. He found it difficult, even deprivation to imagine existence without a Jake, a Wilksey, or an Elvira Grubb. Not to mention half a dozen musical compositions in various stages of completion that would find no audience on the Rock.

"I have a knack and I've really grown to like them," Coyul summed it up. "Go goose an amoeba." The rest of the sentiment was for Barion's mind alone -

DROP BACK WHEN THEY LET YOU OUT. I'LL SHOW YOU WHAT A PIANO PLAYER CAN DO.

Coyul blew a kiss to his brother, presented an expressive middle finger to Sorlij - which blossomed on afterthought into an American Beauty rose for Maj. "Here: stick it" - blazed into pure energy and was gone.

38 - The new, the terrible and the maybes

The intense young man with the James Mason looks lounged in one of Coyul's salon chairs, listening as his abdicating Prince cleaned up last business. Jake admired Coyul's ability to communicate on any level, even the gaseous hype of Eddie Veigle. Coyul reclined in a contour chair, loafer-shod feet crossed on the Danish Modern desk, phone propped against one ear.

"Eddie, sweetheart: listen. The putz is back and you've got him. Yeah, he picked up his option. But let's not make things too easy for him. Did you save the tape? Dynamite. Tear your heart out until Char blew it with the yuks, right?"

Coyul listened to Veigle's woes, the dramatic possibilities gone down the tube with that uncontrollable explosion. The phone emitted a rancorous drone of disgust which Coyul gleefully turned out for Jake's benefit.

"I know, Eddie. Tears are prime time, laughs are late night. So anyway, Stride's all yours. Keep him happy, give him what he wants. All the extras and day players you need. Just don't frighten the horses or pedestrians in the better neighborhoods . . .

Okay, so build permanent sets. When did you ever go broke on overstatement?

Listening to the super-agent, Coyul winced at the smallest possibility of misunderstanding. "Eddie, are you trying to hurt my feelings? Moi who gave you exclusives on Bormann and Oswald? Of course you've got all rights: TV novelization, film, the whole enchilada ... no problem, bubby. I always like doing business with people I love. Think big on this one; think Riefenstahl. Triumph of the Will. I'm bringing in a load of Topside talent. You can have C.B. Of course I mean De Mille. You're expecting Charlie Brown? What?" Coyul rolled his eyes at Jake in strained tolerance. "Eddie, what can I tell you? You want Griffith, you got him. What the hell, he needs a hit. Right. Terrific. Keep in touch. We'll have lunch. Ciao, kid."

The Prince of Darkness (or Light, depending on your translation) dropped the phone on its cradle. "Mr. Veigle is not an intellectual, Jake, but he is a predator. I made it worth his time to keep Roy Stride happy and off your back. That's how it goes; you'll have to talk to people in their own language, hold a few hands now and then, listen to problems. Develop outside interests, Jake; that helps on the bad days. Get out more, see people. You're getting a bit gloomy - but I think you'll manage smashingly."

Jake wasn't all that sure. "In your place? I'm just afraid ..."

"Of what? You said it yourself, one of the two best minds in Judea, far from the worst Below Stairs."

"I certainly know Roy Stride, at any rate," Jake observed dryly. "I was once the kind of person who needed miracle workers. Messiahs. Now I wouldn't have one in the house."

"I understand Yeshua feels the same way now." Coyul swung his feet off the desk, checking his watch. He moved to a gilt-framed mirror. "Stroke them, Jake. Tell them what they want to hear, that's all they want."

"I'm not a leader, Prince."

"And I am?" Coyul countered out of the mirror. "I'm just a piano player, and precious little time I'll have for that now. Besides, you won't have to do it alone. I relied a great deal on your common sense for two thousand years, so I'm sending you real talent for Number Two. The other best mind in Judea."

"Yeshua?" Jake looked even more uncertain. "No, please. Not him."

"Bears no grudges. And he is the best."

"It's not that, Prince. You never had to live with that . . . He's impossible! He's always right."

Coyul smiled reminiscently, recalling Barion in his first few million years. "He's mellowed, Jake. And he misses you. Hasn't had a decent game of chess in ages. Well, it's your office now. Redecorate if you want, but avoid your habitual RKO Gothic; tends to depress visitors."

"Don't you understand?" Jake implored, desperate. "I'm scared."