Calculating God by Robert J. Sawyer Read Free Book Online Page B

immediately froze the image on a picture of Mr. Spock. “See him?” I said. “He’s an alien—a Vulcan.”
    “He” “looks” “like” “a” “human” “being,” said Hollus; he could eat and talk at the same time.
    “Notice the ears.”
    Hollus’s eyestalks stopped weaving in and out. “And that makes him an alien?”
    “Well,” I said, “of course it’s a human actor playing the part—a guy named Leonard Nimoy. But, yeah, the ears are supposed to suggest alienness; this show was done on a low budget.” I paused. “Actually, Spock there is only half-Vulcan; the other half is human.”
    “How is that possible?”
    “His mother was a human; his father was a Vulcan.”
    “That does not make sense biologically,” said Hollus. “It would seem more likely that you could crossbreed a strawberry and a human; at least they evolved on the same planet.”
    I smiled. “Believe me, I know that. But wait, there’s another alien in this episode.” I fast-forwarded for a time, then hit the play button again.
    “That’s a Gorn,” I said, pointing to the tailless green reptile with compound eyes wearing a gold tunic. “He’s the captain of another starship. Pretty neat, huh? I always loved that one—reminded me of a dinosaur.”
    “Indeed,” said Hollus. “Which means, again, that it is far too terrestrial in appearance.”
    “Well, it’s an actor inside a rubber suit,” I said.
    Hollus’s eyes regarded me as if I were again being Master of the Bleeding Obvious.
    We watched the Gorn stagger around for a bit, then I ejected the tape and put in “Journey to Babel.” I didn’t fast-forward, though; I just let the teaser unfold. “See them?” I said. “Those are Spock’s parents. Sarek is a full-blooded Vulcan, and Amanda, the woman there, is a full-blooded human.”
     “Astonishing,” said Hollus. “And humans believe such crossbreeding is possible?”
    I shrugged a little. “Well, it’s science fiction,” I said. “It’s entertainment.” I fast-forwarded to the diplomatic reception. A stocky snout-nosed alien accosted Sarek: “No, you,” he snarled. “How do you vote, Sarek of Vulcan?”
    “That’s a Tellarite,” I said. Then, remembering: “His name is Gay.”
    “He looks like one of your pigs,” said Hollus. “Yet again, too terrestrial.”
    I fast-forwarded some more. “That’s an Andorian,” I said. The screen showed a blue-skinned, white-haired male humanoid, with two thick, segmented antennae emerging from the top of his head.
    “What is his name?” asked Hollus.
    It was Shras, but for some reason I was embarrassed that I knew that. “I don’t remember,” I said, then I put in another tape: the special-edition version of Star Wars, letterboxed. I fast-forwarded to the cantina sequence. Hollus liked Greedo—Jabba’s insectlike henchman who confronted Han Solo—and he liked Hammerhead and a few of the others, but he still felt that humanity had missed the boat on coming up with realistic portrayals of extraterrestrial life. I certainly didn’t disagree.
    “Still,” said Hollus, “your filmmakers did get one thing right.”
    “What’s that?” I asked.
    “The diplomatic reception; the scene in the bar. All the aliens shown seem to have about the same level of technology.”
    I furrowed my brow. “I always thought that was one of the least believable things. I mean, the universe is something like twelve billion years old—”
    “Actually, it is 13.93422 billion,” said Hollus, “measured in Earth years, of course.”
    “Well, fine. The universe is 13.9 billion years old, and Earth is only 4.5 billion years old. There must be planets much, much older than ours, and much, much younger. I’d expect some intelligent races to be millions if not billions of years more advanced than we are, and some to be at least somewhat more primitive.”
    “A race even a few decades less advanced than you are would not have radio or spaceflight and therefore would