Page 107 - Psychoceramics and the Test of Fire
P. 107

Secrets of the Endosphere

          I grinned idiotically. “Well, we do like to think you haven’t taken
        the money and run out on us. The guys who put together the short
        list of possible programs must think a lot of you, Mr. Cade. Well, I
        think a lot of them, so here I am and there it is. What do you say?”
          “I say you’re getting a bargain. But you can’t know that, so I can’t
        ask for more. As I read this—and it’s pretty damn simple, for which
        you must be commended—I commit to nothing but what you said:
        no snooping until I’m done. Then you get what you want. Maybe you
        think you’ll save your investment if I fail miserably by going ahead
        with the film and making me look like a fool; that doesn’t bother me,
        because it won’t happen that way. Not a chance.”
          Yes, Al Magnus knew his beneficiaries: absolutely certain of their
        success, and wouldn’t dream of doing anything else with the rather
        large sums bestowed upon them. They had won the lottery without
        buying a ticket, bypassing all the implicit irrational hope that rides on
        beating  the  odds;  from  their  perspective  it  was  surprising  but
        perfectly  natural  that  someone,  somewhere  would  recognize  their
        genius. I had enough experience now to know that once their sugar-
        plum vision loses its externally-imposed status of wallflower and gets
        out on the dance floor of their minds they don’t look back: not once
        question  my  bona  fides,  nor  object  to  the  size  of  the  check,  and
        certainly never wonder why they don’t hear from me again. No time
        for such mundane diligence: the grand project was finally underway,
        and vindication was just around the corner!
          I  wouldn’t  say  I  had  Barry  Cade eating  out  of  my  hand  at  that
        point, but he signed and I skedaddled, promising a cashier’s check by
        certified  mail  within  three  days.  My  last  glimpse  of  him:  hollering
        joyously,  he  kicked  over  a  small  roto-tiller.  I  restored  my  normal
        appearance, went back to my hotel room and took a shower. What I
        had been wearing at the equipment rental shop was destined  for a
        thrift shop in some other city. I checked out the next morning after
        arranging  for  Cade’s  money  to  be  delivered—and,  of  course,  my
        own!  This  time  I  was  determined  to  save  a  portion  of  the  fee.
        Opportunities like this could not come more than once in a lifetime.
          Cade’s mission to find the SETI Holy Grail through a shaky chain
        of  inductive  reasoning  ended,  as  everyone  knows,  in  a  rather
        unexpected discovery. I was again reminded of and thankful for the
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