RF: "Leadership training." Detoxification. Toeing the party, company, organizational line through Internal Communications Protocols. Staying On Message. Management attitude agreement charters. You were part of that. You helped.
CR: I'll cut off your fucking ectoplasm supply.
RF: Don't talk to me about weird science or lack of scrutiny, kid.
Never discuss politics with the dead. They've had time to get really nasty. And perceptive.
Rocket Science
I asked The Rocket Scientist (PhD in aerospace engineering, experiments performed at NASA) where it all went wrong. I need ideas, I said. Something to go kick that soggy old specter's ass.
She stared. Thought. Spoke, very softly and clearly.
"I think a lot of the stuff I read, on the internet and elsewhere, is all trees and no forest. I know that's a big, obvious thing to say, but you know what? I always liked big obvious things. Dumb questions. Like, why is the sky blue? How does a car go forward? What makes sound come out of the radio? All the rest is just sort of information.
"When you look at some of the older scientists, say, from 100 years ago or more, they didn't really seem to consider themselves biologists, chemists, astrophysicists or whatever. Certainly not researchers tied to one microcosmically specialized area of a single field. It was about looking at the world and trying to figure things out, reaching across boundaries and existing ideas. Like Tesla. What a madman. But great results.
"Mixing basic ideas is fun. Like how about peanut butter and orange juice (that didn't work so well when I was 5)? Or, if fire is hard to figure but fluid's a bit easier, how about treating fire like water? In videogames, if everyone's so addicted to World of Warcraft, why don't businesses try daily quests and experience points and having a token economy in place?
"The weirdest science of all starts with the kid at the back of the class who'd ask obvious questions that everyone else was too sophisticated to be curious about. And I don't think they've ever found a way to bottle that."
She sat there, a little uncomfortable.
"You should come over Saturday," I said. "There's someone who'll like you."
Well Done
The key to a proper New Zealand-style barbecue séance is hot coals, good basting sauce and a long, warm Pacific afternoon. I'd hoped for tuatara kebab, but in the end it was broiled kiwi. Kiwi tastes exactly like chicken would, if chicken were endangered and helpless and slightly tough.
The two doctors stared at the smoke, trying to figure out something about gas vortices and the grill configuration. They chatted and strolled the yard, with the tiny rimu-wood altar held firmly at her side, as he floated and cackled and enjoyed the view.
This is New Zealand when the wind is in its best direction. He drifted over near sunset, the last few embers glowing in his eyes.
"Guess half-life's better than nothing, eh, Dick?"
"Get off the sugar," he said. "And stop feeding people crap."
I nodded. We were done with the other stuff.
"Sophistication and cynicism'll kill you faster than cancer," he croaked. "And a good thing, too."
He spluttered, then coughed and plumed. He floated up high, heading south over the hills at speed, before the sun went down and the wind brushed him away like tiny falling pieces from a space shuttle.
Colin Rowsell was the first New Zealander to orbit Pluto. He can be hired, questioned and abused on giantmonkeyvirus@gmail.com.
