Free Seeker by Jack McDevitt Page B

deeply about where we might have connected. There was some back and forth about places we’d both worked. No link there. Different schools. Must be my imagination. We ordered, lunch came, we talked aimlessly. The women were all assigned to the same facility. There was a problem of some sort with the boss, who was forever taking credit for other people’s ideas, who wouldn’t listen to anyone, and who didn’t spend enough time with the software. That was station-speak for someone who didn’t socialize, a capital crime in a small society. The usual cautions about supervisors fraternizing with the help didn’t apply to the same degree in places like Morinda.
    I waited until we were finished and dividing the check. Then it struck me. I brightened, looked directly at Kayla, and said, “You’re Hap’s sister.”
    She went white. “You know Hap?”
    “I was Chase Bonner when you knew me. I used to come by the apartment.”
    She frowned.
    “Years ago, of course. I can understand you might have forgotten.”
    “Oh, no,” she said. “I remember you. Of course. It’s just that it’s been so long.”
    “I can’t believe I’d run into you here.”
    “Yes. That’s a wild coincidence, isn’t it?”
    “How’s Hap? I haven’t seen him in a lot of years.”
    “Oh. He’s okay. I guess. Actually, I haven’t seen him myself in a long time.” We were out of the restaurant by then, trailing behind her companions. “Listen,” she said, “it’s been a pleasure to see you again, uh . . .” She had to struggle for the name. “ — Shelley.”
    “Chase.” I smiled gently. “It’s okay. We didn’t spend that much time together. I wouldn’t expect you to remember me.”
    “No. I remember you. It’s just that I have to get back to work, and I guess my mind is on other things.”
    “Sure,” I said. “I understand. How about letting me buy you a drink while I’m here? Maybe this evening?”
    “Oh, I don’t know, Chase. My husband—”
    “Bring him along—”
    “—doesn’t drink.”
    “Dinner then. My treat.”
    “I can’t let you do that.” Still backing away from me.
    “It’s okay. It’s something I’d really like to do, Kayla.”
    “You have a number?” I gave it to her. “Let me check with him, and I’ll get back to you.”
    “Okay. I hope you can make it.”
    “I’m sure we can manage it, Chase. And thank you.”
     
     
    We met at the same place where Jack and I had eaten the evening before. I brought him along to balance the sides.
    Remilon Bentner was a pleasant enough dinner companion, easygoing, plainspoken, a good conversationalist. He and Jack, it turned out, both played a game that had become popular at the station. It was called Governance, and required participants to make political and social-engineering decisions. We have, for example, implants that will stimulate intelligence. No known side effects. Do we make them available to the general public? “I did, and I got some unpleasant surprises,” said Rem. “High IQs aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”
    “In what way?” I asked.
    Jack was drinking coffee. “Beyond a certain level, roughly one-eighty, people, young ones especially, tend to become disruptive. Rebellious.”
    “But that,” I said, “is because they become restless, right? Their peers are slower, so the brighter ones lose patience.”
    “Actually,” said Rem, “they’re simply harder to program. You ever wonder why human intelligence is set where it is?”
    “I assume,” I said, “it’s because the dumber apes walked into the tigers.”
    “But why not
higher
?” asked Jack. “When Kasavitch did his Phoenician study at the beginning of the last century, he concluded there was no evidence humans are any smarter now than they were at the dawn of history. Why not?”
    “Easy,” said Kayla. “Fifteen thousand years is too short a time for evolutionary effects to take hold. Kasavitch — did I get his name right? — needs to come