Calculating God Read Online Free PDF Page A

partner.
    “Why does everyone keep assuming that?” asked Hollus. “You humans seem to have a profound capacity for ignoring obvious evidence.” His two crystalline eyes looked pointedly at me.
    “Which of you is the museum’s director?” asked the brawny cop.
    “I am,” said Christine. “Christine Dorati.”
    “Well, ma’am, what do you think we should do?”
    Christine shrugged. “Is the spaceship blocking traffic?”
    “No,” said the cop. “It’s entirely on the planetarium grounds, but . . .”
    “Yes?”
    “But, well, something like this should be reported.”
    “I agree,” said Christine. “But to whom?”
    My desk phone rang again. This time it was Indira’s assistant—they can’t keep the planetarium open, but assistants have assistants. “Hello, Perry,” I said. “Just a sec.” I handed the phone to Indira.
    “Yes?” she said. “I see. Umm, hang on a second.” She looked at her boss. “CITY-TV is here,” she said. “They want to see the alien.” CITY-TV was a local station known for its in-your-face news; its slogan was simply “Everywhere!”
    Christine turned toward the two cops to see if they were going to object. They looked at each other and exchanged small shrugs. “Well, we can’t bring any more people up here,” said Christine. “Tom’s office won’t take it.” She turned to Hollus. “Would you mind coming down to the Rotunda again?”
    Hollus bobbed up and down, but I don’t think it was a sign of agreement. “I am eager to get on with my research,” he said.
    “You’ll have to speak to other people at some point,” replied Christine. “Might as well get it over with.”
    “Very well,” said Hollus, sounding awfully reluctant.
    The thickset cop spoke into the microphone attached to the shoulder of his uniform, presumably talking to someone back at the station. Meanwhile, we all marched down the corridor toward the elevator. We had to go down in two loads: Hollus, Christine, and me in the first one; Indira and the two cops in the second. We waited for them on the ground floor, then made our way out into the museum’s vaulted lobby.
    CITY-TV calls its camerapersons—all young, all hip—“videographers.” There was one waiting, all right, as well as quite a crowd of spectators, standing around in anticipation of the return of the alien. The videographer, a Native Canadian man with black hair tied in a ponytail—surged forward. Christine, ever the politician, tried to step into his camera’s field of view, but he simply wanted to shoot Hollus from as many angles as possible—CITY-TV was notorious for what my brother-in-law calls “out-of-body-cam.”
    I noticed one of the cops had his hand resting on his holster; I rather imagine their supervisor had told them to protect the alien at all costs.
    Finally, Hollus’s patience was exhausted. “Surely” “that” “is” “enough,” he said to the guy from CITY-TV.
    That the alien could speak English astounded the crowd; most of them had arrived after Hollus and I had spoken in the lobby. Suddenly the videographer started peppering the alien with questions: “Where are you from?” “What’s your mission?” “How long did it take you to get here?” Hollus did his best to answer—although he never mentioned God—but, after a few minutes, two men in dark-blue business suits entered my field of view, one black and one white. They observed the alien for a short time, then the white one stepped forward and said, “Excuse me.” He had a Québecois accent.
    Hollus apparently didn’t hear; he went on answering the videographer’s questions.
    “Excuse me,” said the man again, much louder.
    Hollus moved aside. “I am sorry,” said the alien. “Did you wish to get by?”
    “No,” said the man. “I want to speak to you. We’re from the Canadian Security Intelligence Service; I’d like you to come with us.”
    “Where to?”
    “To a safer place, where you can talk to the right