collapse

Waterhouse is thinking about cycles within cycles. He's already made up his mind that human society is one of these cycles-within-cycles things* and now he's trying to figure out whether it is like Turing's bicycle (works fine for a while, then suddenly the chain falls off; hence the occasional world war) or like an Enigma machine (grinds away incomprehensibly for a long time, then suddenly the wheels line up like a slot machine and everything is made plain in some sort of global epiphany or, if you prefer, apocalypse) or just like a rotary airplane engine (runs and runs and runs; nothing special happens; it just makes a lot of noise).

The fall of Empire, gentlemen, is a massive thing, however, and not easily fought. It is dictated by a rising bureaucracy, a receding initiative, a freezing of caste, a damming of curiosity—a hundred other factors.

"The usual state of nature is recovering from the last disaster,"

"Are you asking if I believe in ghosts?" "I don't know. Maybe. Yes." "Of course not. Imagine how many there'd be." "Yes," Kirsten said, "that's exactly it."

Almost every sentient being who ever lived belonged to a society that doesn't exist any more. Why should we be any different?"