Adams settled back in his chair.
The warmth of the sun felt good across his shoulders. The ticking of the clock was comforting.
Commonplace and comforting after the ghost voices whispering out in space. Thoughts that one could not pin down, that one could not trace back and say, "This one started here and then."
Although we're trying, Adams thought. Man will try anything, take any sort of chance, gamble on no odds at all.
He chuckled to himself. Chuckled at the weirdness of the project.
Thousands of listeners listening in on the random thoughts of random time and space listening in for clues, for hints, for leads. Seeking a driblet of sense from the stream of gibberish…hunting the word or sentence or disassociated thought that might be translated into a new philosophy or a new technique or a new science…or a new something that the human race had never even dreamed of.
A new concept, said Adams, talking to himself. An entirely new concept.
Adams scowled to himself.
A new concept might be dangerous. This was not the time for anything that did not fit into the groove, that did not match the pattern of human thought and action.
There could be no confusion. There could be nothing but the sheer, bulldog determination to hang on, to sink in one's teeth and stay. To maintain the status quo.